When The Bough Breaks
by Immokk
Summary: Never before had he been so interested in food and the smells of a kitchen Chapter 67 Final Chapter
1. Cradle and All

**A/N: I know I said I wouldn't be writing for a bit but I had this idea… I hope I can pull it off. Minor challenge me thinks.**

**Short chapter to start… Don't know if I will put the second up or continue at all.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Erik or Christine or any other character from the book/ musical/ movie. However, I own my own plot, characters and my characterisations. **

**When the Bough Breaks**.

**Chapter 1- Cradle and All**

She placed the crying child into his arms and backed away from his solid frame. The baby looked so small in his hands, so tiny... his little mouth was open and he was wailing hard into the cave. The sound bounced around the walls and echoed back into their ears. She looked at her baby, her brown eyes soft and his so, so blue and then she looked up at the broken man standing in front of her... holding her child like it was an object.

But she had no choice.

His eyes watched her as she stepped away from him, they were stark in contrast to her child's... to her little boy's... still blue but without the soft texture of her baby's. They were icy and hard, the coldest blue she had ever seen but so intense that she couldn't draw herself away from them.

Had they always been so harsh?

She could feel the tears flowing freely down her cheeks, they were warm and burned her skin but still she couldn't stop them. Her hand lifted almost involuntarily to her eyes and swiped away the tears so that she could see. No amount of tears could ever wash away this pain.

'I...' she began but stopped, there were no words to express this and there was no satisfactory explanation to give. All that was between the three of them now was deafening silence and soon, distance.

He shook his head at her but still she moved away.

The baby was foreign to his hands, it's warmth scolded him and it's screaming almost shattered his ears.. he held it out to her... _take it back_... but she too shook her head in his direction. This was the hardest thing she had ever done, so hard that she felt her heart crumbling as she stood there looking at the boy she was leaving behind.

It was a moment before she could compose herself enough to take her final look, to realise that this was probably going to be the last time she ever saw him... either of them... and then without a word she turned and fled. He grasped the baby, still weeping, in his arms and ran to the exit of his home where he was just in time to see the blue of Christine's cape vanish into the market place.

Erik turned and walked numbly back into his home, placed the baby onto the settee, turned his back and walked away from the screaming.


	2. Baby, Baby

**Chapter 2- Baby, Baby**

There wasn't much that kept Erik awake at night. It wasn't as if he needed much sleep, he rarely took more than a few hours but those few hours had been rapidly diminished by the sound of the screaming baby. Erik skulked from his room back into the living area where he had left the child, some hours ago (and still crying) lying on the settee. He stared at him, walked towards him and restrained himself. Fury coursed through his pumping veins and he forced himself to be calm.

He didn't want the child.

Christine's appearance at his humble cave had been a shock, when she had knocked on his door and stood in front of him the world he had been rebuilding crumbled into millions of pieces. He stood there, resolute that he would not succumb to his vivid imagination, staring at the woman who had chosen someone else over him over a year ago. She did not look normal, not like herself and the more he stared the worse it got. Her face was drawn and aged, lines creased her once perfect, ivory skin. Her lips, no longer their full blood red but thin and hardly even pink. Her hair was messy and too long, her hands looked rough... she looked tired. Her eyes, although their usual soft brown were duller, they had lost their sparkle.

He had simply stared, unable to find the words to speak to her. She had been the one to break the silence.

'Erik...' she had whispered and his ears had tingled. She held out a bundle in her hands, the beautiful cotton only a Vicomtess could afford and placed it in his. It was heavier than he expected and as she let go she said, 'Be careful.'

Instead of speaking to her, instead of asking what it was, he gently unwrapped the blanket and was met by the opening eyes of a small baby.

And then the baby began to cry.

'This is my son, Erik.' she had said softly. 'I need you to look after him.'

Erik was astonished. He stared blankly at her for what could have been an eternity.

'No.' he said, almost finding a laugh in his throat, and held the crying child out to her but rather than take him she wrapped her arms around herself and looked away.

A tear dripped from her face to the floor, its silent splash was almost thunderous.

'Please...' she choked but he shook his head.

'Why?' he had asked, watching her for more than a flicker of dull emotion. Her tears were the only thing giving her away. 'Why are you leaving him?'

'Because...' she began and stopped to wipe her eyes. 'Because they have killed Philippe... they've...'

Erik frowned.

'Oh Erik...' she whispered. 'They murdered Raoul...'

'Who has?' he asked, his voice was cool.

'They are a family of bandits... like pirates... they rob, murder… Oh, God,' she stopped and swallowed hard. 'They hunt aristocrats… like a game, they steal their lives… they want the de Chagny fortune and to get that...' she closed her eyes and her hand flew to grasp her chest. 'They must kill the de Chagny's.'

'Why should this concern me?' he asked, his voice coated in poison. 

'Because only you can save my son,' she replied and looked into his eyes. 'They'll find me and when they do I'll be killed but I would go to hell before I let them harm my boy... my Joshua.'

'Well,' he said, glaring at her. 'At least I'm preferable to hell.'

'Erik, please...' she begged.

He stopped for a moment, instead of glowering he simply looked at her before him. Standing there _begging_ him… so desperate and so naïve, suddenly his heart seemed to stop, despite his anger it softened in his body and he stepped towards her.

'I can protect you too, Christine.' he said simply. 'If you stay I will protect you both.'

'No...' she said softly. 'No, if they find me they find him… if they find him they will kill him and no one can stop them... not even you Angel...'

His heart stopped at the sound of the word... _angel_...

'I can...'

'No,' she said, moving backwards. 'Not even you.'

Erik wanted to protest, every bone in his body told him to reach out as his head thumped from the wailing of Joshua but he didn't.

'I...' had been the last thing she had said to him before she left them both.

And so here they were, hours later, the boy still crying like an imbecile and Erik, still standing there, unable to sleep, unable to concentrate, unable to think and unable to fathom what he should do next.


	3. Friends and Enemies

**Chapter 3- Friends and Enemies.**

He sat in the seat opposite the baby, watching its face become redder and redder through its squealing. He balled his hands into fists, rested them on his knees, he rocked himself into the chair… gritted his teeth. His body ached from the sound of the boy, his head was pounding.

Irritated was a word not even close to describing this feeling.

Erik stood up and walked to the child, stared down at its legs kicking out as the wailing continued from its mouth.

'Shut up,' he growled. Apparently the boy had yet to be told to shut up, her only seemed to get louder and Erik wondered how much more he could possibly take. He had been given a baby to look after like he was some sort of _nanny_, a child he had never seen of nor heard of before. A child that didn't belong to him and a child that he had no longing for.

He turned around and moved back to his chair, threw himself into it and continued in his attempts to block out the outrageous shrieking.

'What on earth..?'

Erik looked up at Nadir standing at the door, staring from Erik to the boy.

'Who is this, Erik?' he asked, a frown creased his forehead. 'What have you done?'

'Why is it…' Erik began, looking at his small friend. '…that you are so quick to assume that this god forsaken mess is my doing?'

'Isn't it?' asked Nadir, closing the door behind him and walking cautiously to the centre of the room.

'No,' he said. 'Don't be so stupid.'

'Such a foul temper..' he said with _tsk._ Erik glared up at him. 'Then who is the baby?'

'Joshua.'

Nadir stared at him.

'Joshua de Chagny,' he said, rubbing his eyes. Nadir raised his eyebrows.

'How is it that he is here, Erik?' he asked, staring at him.

'Well,' Erik said, his voice oozing sarcasm. 'I get the distinct tendency to think that Christine realises I might not be dead.'

'She brought him here?'

'No,' Erik said, rolling his eyes. 'He flew here entirely of his own accord.'

'If you're going to be so bloody minded I will leave you to deal with this by yourself.'

Erik shrugged and Nadir wandered towards the door at the front of the cave before he turned to look at them both again.

'You can't just let him cry like that,' he said.

'Why not?' Erik asked.

'He's a child.'

'He isn't _my _child,' Erik snarled.

'Christine trusted you with him,' Nadir said and glanced at the baby. 'Though Lord only knows why.'

'Apparently he is in some sort of danger,' Erik sighed.

The baby's screams intensified.

'Hmm,' Nadir frowned and walked towards Joshua. 'It's amazing how out of the loop you become once you move away from France… I'll do some digging, perhaps I can find out what is going on.'

'What for?' Erik asked.

'So that you can understand.'

'I already do,' he said. 'Not that it matters… the child…'

'Joshua…'

'The child…' Erik growled. 'Cannot, under _any_ circumstances, stay here.'

'I don't see why not,' Nadir said shaking his head and reaching down to lift Joshua into his arms. 'He needs someone, you need someone, I don't see why you can't need each other.'

Erik glared at his friend.

'Perhaps because he isn't mine… he is the child, the product… of Christine's disloyalty… maybe because I have nothing to give him… no clothes or food… Nadir, I barely eat myself…'

'Then we buy food…'

'I can't look after a baby,' Erik barked. 'I have no such inclination and I certainly do not have the knowledge or the means.'

'Erik…'

'That is it,' he said, and stood up. 'Take him with you, give him away at market, someone will take him… just get him out of my home.'

'What about Christine?' he said quietly.

'What about her?' Erik said, looking into Nadir's black eyes. 'She left me… I owe her nothing.'

'But you love her,'

'Don't be so stupid,' he snarled. 'I did love her, that much is true… but to love someone who betrays you so? No… never…'

'Then you will give her child away?' he asked. 'Betray her in return, is that it?'

Erik looked at Nadir who was gently and carefully rocking Joshua in his arms. The child's crying was slowly becoming quieter.

'Erik,' he said. 'When he cries he needs to be held… babies need to be held when they are sad… his mother has given him away… do you remember how that feels?'

Erik fixed his stare once again up on Nadir.

'Are you trying to make me kill you, Nadir?' Erik spat. 'Do not for one moment think that I won't.'

'I don't doubt that you would,' he replied. 'I do doubt that you want this child to grow feeling the way you have.'

Erik fell back into his seat and raised his fingertips to firmly massage his aching temples.

'Put him down,' he said.

'Erik,' Nadir tried to make his voice firm and fearless.

He failed.

'Now,' Erik roared and finally Nadir obeyed, placing the child back down to the settee gently. 'Leave us.'

Nadir opened his mouth to protest but instead he thought better of it and turned to leave.

'Don't desert him,' was the last thing he said before he left the shattered phantom and his new companion.


	4. A Letter

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews. I hope this chapter works!**

**Chapter 4- A letter.**

Erik drooped his head, trying to shield it from the screaming, he held it in his hands and dug his fingernails into the skin until he felt the sickly warmth of blood on his fingers. He shot another look at the boy before standing and skulking into his bedroom and closing the door behind him, which muffled the sound some but didn't stop it from piercing through the wood.

He lay on his bed and pulled the covers around him, it was getting later and later and still he hadn't found sleep through the deafening volume of the baby's cries. He lay there, moved his hands to cover his ears… pulled the pillow over his head… but still the sound moved through. He threw the pillow to the ground and jumped up, he stalked to the door, opened it and looked out, once more, onto the child.

_Hasn't he worn himself out yet? _

Erik began to pace.

He paced slowly around his bed, around and around, then out of the door and around the living room. His pace increased until his heart began to thump hard in his chest. Erik picked up the poker from next to the fire and launched it hard at the wall.

_Clang._

But still the child ignored his efforts to frighten him and continued to cry and cry and cry… Erik continued to pace and become gradually more and more frustrated… the racket was almost unbearable.

'Stop!' he commanded but the baby cried some more… seemingly louder until Erik clutched at his mask, tore it from his face and stared down at the child.

The shock did nothing.

It did not quiet nor anger the child, whose crying seemed to have gone on for days.

Erik scowled and placed the mask back against his skin, pushing the ceramic back into his flesh until the gum bound it back to his face. He stared once more at the child.

'Shut… UP!' he shouted, but not even his booming voice matched the ear piercing screams.

Erik collapsed back into his chair, he felt exhausted and was astounded that the child had not given in… was not exhausted too.

But he wasn't exhausted. His squealing was incessant.

Erik rocked in the chair, trying to concentrate… trying to think… to get some grip on the situation before him… but it was no use. How could anyone possibly think with this kind of blaring and persistent noise.

'Stop it!' he tried again, stood up and stood over the baby. 'Stop it… stop it…'

Not a flicker of anything… just more crying… more, seemingly louder… crying.. and crying…

'Stop…' Erik said. 'Stop… please… Oh, God…'

He ran his fingers through his hair, closed his eyes.

'Please…' he begged, he was finally beginning to lose it or was he? What was he thinking? The child… this thing… this inconvenience was not his, it needn't stay… he would simply take it out into the night and leave it for the snakes. Egypt had many snakes, many animals… the child's ridiculous rampage would never be heard again.

He looked down at the boy and shook his head.

Why not?

Again he shook his head.

The baby cried and Erik glanced down at him.

As he did he noticed the corner of something poking out from under the blanket. It was something white and as he reached to pick it up he realised it was a letter. He unfolded the crisp paper and glanced at his name at the top.

_My Dearest Erik_,

In Christine's eloquent and beautiful hand.

_My Dearest Erik, _

_I know that this is a terrible imposition, I realise what you must be feeling but I know that you will do what is right. _

_There are so many things I want to say to you, that you need to know so I am writing you a letter as I know I will not be able to express this when I look into your beautiful eyes. _

_My child is the world to me. My Joshua is everything in my life since there is no music. As I sit here to write this letter I know that my husband is dead and that I am next, that they are hunting me and they are hunting my child. I know that they won't stop until we are in our graves. _

_Hear me Erik for I know that you listen, I know that you understand what it is to be hunted. _

_Raoul is gone, his family are gone, and soon I will be too. I expect that if you're reading this then you already have my baby in your arms and I know that he is safe there. I know that he is safer with you then he is with any other person on this Earth. _

_I need him to be alright, I need you to protect him come what may so that I can see him again in seventy years when he joins me in heaven. _

_Don't look like that, Erik, I know that I am going to die and I have accepted that fate for myself. For my Joshua, I could never allow it. _

_So be good to him Erik, as I know you can be. _

_Erik, I have missed you so… I have missed you desperately. I made a mistake when I left, I made a horrible, terrible mistake. A mistake I will never be able to rectify. Know Erik that I love you, that I love you more than I thought I could love any man. _

_I love you more than I could ever love Raoul._

_I should never have left, I know it now and I know that it is too late. Raoul was good to me, he cared for me and our son but I could never feel the passion for him that I felt for you, no matter how I desperately tried. Everything I felt for you will remain with me and it will be your face and my son's I see when I close my eyes to die and it will be your name resting on my lips as I go to my grave. _

_I will never give you up to anyone. They can torture me but they shall never know of the Phantom of the Opera. They will never know where my angel is. _

_Either of my angels. _

_Oh, Erik, never forget me and never stop loving me… accept my apologies for my foolishness… accept my love as if I never left. Move on with your life but take Joshua with you and love him as if I were with you both. _

_Teach him your knowledge and your books but most of all Erik teach him your music,_

_I love you both dearly,_

_I love you Angel,_

_Eternally,_

_Christine._

Erik fell to his knees and joined Joshua in his grief.


	5. Softer and Softer

**A/N: Thank you all for the reviews. Excuse typing errors, I wanted this chapter up today as I'm not sure when I will get the next one on here!**

**Ahomelesspirate: This is a challenge for me because a lot of the story will be from Erik perspective and I will struggle to keep him in character as well as giving him my 'stamp' as it were. Thanks for the review. **

**Hicdracones: Thank you for the review. Erik would find this difficult, I believe that with all my heart but I also believe that although he is lonely, he has friends in the oddest places. **

**Angelofmusic: Well, I'm not sure what to tell you at the moment except for could it really be phantom with no more Christine? Keep reading. **

**Nice long chapter.**

**Chapter 5- Softer and Softer.**

Kneeling by the side of the settee he took a long look at the crying baby in front of him. Slowly, Erik pushed himself to his feet using the chair as support, he suddenly felt very weak. He glanced from the child to the paper on the floor, the letter from Christine, he wasn't sure what he should feel but his heart knew.

His heart wept.

He looked back up at the baby, lying there with his legs kicking out in the air, and he reached his hand out… but brought it back to his side quickly. Instead he sat on the settee next to the boy and continued to look down on him, watching his crying from a different angle in his mind.

Erik closed his eyes.

'Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee, All through the night;' Erik sang, with his eyes closed. 'Guardian angels I will send thee,All through the night;_' _

Erik opened one eye and glanced down at the child. He was still crying but he was quieter, his feet were stiller.

'Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,_' _Erik continued, the words sounded strange leaving his lips. 'Hill and vale in slumber sleeping, I my loving vigil keeping,All through the night._'_

The crying had subsided to a quiet murmur, there was little movement from the child as Erik hummed. _  
_

'While the moon her watch is keeping, All through the night;' Erik sang softly. 'While the weary world is sleeping, All through the night; O'er thy spirit gently stealing, Visions of delight revealing, Breathes a pure and softly feeling, All through the night.'

Erik slowly opened his eyes completely and looked down at the silent baby, not a cry nor a mumble, nor any sound at all escaped his mouth. Instead he lay with his eyes closed, snuggled into the soft cushion of the settee. Erik looked more closely, checking that the boy was still breathing. When he saw the rise and fall of the baby's chest Erik did something he could hardly believe himself.

He let out a soft sigh of relief.

* * *

Erik opened his eyes to the sound of bustling outside, when they were opened fully he realised that the sun was gleaming through his window, lighting up the whole room. He looked to his left and saw the baby, eyes like little slits as he too woke up to face the world.

Erik stood and walked to his kitchen area where he placed some water over his stove, warming it slowly. He then found a cloth and dipped it into the water, as the water reached a suitable temperature he took it carefully away from the stove and placed it on the living room table.

He moved over and lifted the baby from his seat, holding him out like he was poison… too hot to hold close to his body. Holding the child out in front of him he studied him, working out how to deal with his predicament. It was then the boy opened his blue eyes and focused them onto Erik, his face lit into a beaming smile and he fixed his gaze onto his new carer. Erik frowned but in an instant he saw it.

He saw her.

He saw Christine in the boys face, he saw her beauty, her cheeks and soft skin… he saw all the love in the world radiating from the child. He placed the boy carefully onto the table and with the damp cloth in one hand and removing the baby's clothes with his other he set about washing him.

At first the baby kicked out, squirmed away… tried to distance himself from Erik and then he started to scream. Erik stopped and stared at him before gingerly reaching out and lifting him into his arms, holding him to his chest. He remembered the way Nadir had held the baby and so he mimicked his movements, rocking him gently and shushing until the child became gradually calmer.

Erik picked the cloth up and, holding the infant in his arm, he used his other hand to wash him, the back of his head, his face… all the time shushing gently and swaying him from side to side. It was when a droplet of water fell from the cloth to the baby's chin and he began to giggle that Erik's cold heart began to soften.

'Well, well,'

Erik turned, still holding the boy carefully in his hand.

'I don't remember inviting you in,' he said coldly, staring at Nadir's stocky but short frame in his doorway. Nadir moved in and closed the door behind him.

'I brought you some food and clean linen for little Joshua,' he said, with a smile. His olive skin shone from the sun and his dark eyes sparkled as he watched Erik.

'Thank you,' Erik said quietly.

'What?'

'You heard me,' he snapped.

'Actually, I didn't…'

'Fool,' Erik said but Nadir simply laughed and placed his satchel onto the table next to the bowl of water.

'He's not crying,' Nadir said, and then, with a grin. 'Nor is he bleeding… my, my, have you bonded?'

'Don't be an imbecile, Daroga,'

The Persian smiled and took a seat at the table before delving his think hands into his bag and pulling out a small bottle of white liquid and a loaf of fresh bread.

'I've been to the market,' he said and broke a chunk of bread off and held it out for Erik. Erik stared at him for a moment before placing the cloth down and taking the bread from his friend. 'That is for you, Ghost.'

Erik rolled his eyes and rocked the baby.

'And this,' he said, waving the container of milk. 'Is for our friend here.'

Erik nodded.

'And so are these,' he said holding up the square pieces of linen and pins. Erik looked up at Nadir who was sniggering.

'Must I?' he asked, looking at the Persian.

'Well, it's a necessity,' he replied, shrugging his broad shoulders. Erik glanced down at the baby, whose smile was most disarming... it was Christine's smile.

'I won't,' Erik said simply.

'But you must, Erik,' Nadir said quickly. 'It's… important… he will only begin to cry again.'

'And how is it that you know so much about ... these things,' he held the boy out.

'You mean children?' he asked. Erik raised his eyebrows. 'I had brothers and sisters younger than myself… I cared for them too…'

'Why?' Erik bit. 'Did your mother not do it?'

'Did yours?' Nadir retorted.

Erik scowled.

'I will show you,' Nadir said, glancing up and Erik before taking the baby from his arms. 'Then it is up to you.'

'This is hardly a man's job,' Erik snarled.

'Since when have you been an ordinary man, friend?'

Erik nodded and watched as Nadir placed the child gently onto his back on the table and lifted the linen from under him. He placed it in the bowl of water.

'Put this over the stove Erik and add some of your lotion to it,'

Erik frowned and turned his nose away before lifting the basin and carrying it into the kitchen area and hanging it carefully over the stove. He wandered back through to the living area and continued to pay attention to Nadir.

He watched as Nadir tickled the baby's stomach and poked him in the ribs, causing him to burst into the giggles that had so far done nothing but remind Erik of Christine. Then he lifted the child's legs up with one hand and slotted the clean linen underneath him before laying him back down on it. Nadir then carefully pulled the corner through, wrapped it and around and hooked the sides to each other. Then he gently pinned the sides together and held him up to look at Erik.

'Voila,' he said and smiled. Erik shook his head.

'You never cease to amaze me, Daroga,' he said.

Nadir nodded and shot Erik a soft smile.

'Did she bring him a basket?' he asked and Erik nodded.

'Behind you,' he said and watched as Nadir turned around a lifted it up.

'Good,' he said and tucked the blankets into it before laying the baby carefully on top of them. 'Where is his other blanket… the one he was wrapped in yesterday?'

Erik handed the soft blanket to Nadir who covered the child carefully with it.

'What are you going to do, Erik?' he asked, as he returned his gaze to his friend.

'I don't know,' he answered honestly.

'I don't think that you will ever figure it out,' he said. 'I think you'll just do it… you'll do it because you love her.'

Erik said nothing as Nadir stood and walked towards him.

'I know you'll be a wonderful father,' Nadir said as he placed his hand on Erik's shoulder. 'You just need to curb your temper.'


	6. Lightness

**A/N: Will be picking up the pace very shortly. More characters, both known and unknown, more Erik… read, review, hope you like!**

**For those of you that read 'Lullaby' there will be someone you recognise in this chapter ;)**

**Chapter 6- Lightness**

He sat alone in the room as the African sunshine flourished his home, brightening its walls and furniture, throwing warmth onto the bare side of his face. He looked down at the baby, thinking that although he had held the boy he still could not connect himself to him. He stared, knowing that he did not want a child of Christine's to grow up so far away from humanity, after all, Erik had none to give. He groaned out loud at the thought of living with a baby, spending his waking hours having to run around after another thing... he looked once more at the child, who was sleeping quietly in his basket.

Erik shrugged.

He stood and wandered through to his bedroom, which was decorated sparsely with a window that caught very little light. It was cold for this reason and it always gave him comfort. It reminded him of the home that had been destroyed, the home he had left behind ... because of Christine.

He opened the wardrobe he had carved so carefully when he had first arrived in Egypt and reached in to lift his case from its floor. He turned and placed the case, open, on the bed and stared at its contents.

Four masks.

Two ceramic and white, one a soft ivory coloured material and the other as black as the Egyptian night. He moved them all carefully to tuck in the corner of the case and turned his attention back to the wardrobe behind him. Carefully he fetched out his clothing, shirts, waist coats, ties, trousers, jackets... everything and then he folded the important things carefully and placed them into the case.

Carrying the bag he walked quietly through to the living area and sat down to await Nadir's return.

* * *

Nadir walked in unannounced and stood by the door, a bag in either hand. He glanced from the baby to Erik and then flashed him a smile.

'Are you coming with us?' Erik asked, as he stared back at the small Persian.

'As your servant, Erik?' he asked, a frown wrinkling his dark skin.

'Not a servant,' Erik said quietly. 'I'll pay you good money to look after my affairs, it's a reasonable offer.'

'I don't think I'll join you,' Nadir shook his head without _thinking_ at all.

'Why not?' Erik demanded, and Nadir noticed a flash of amber across his eyes.

'It's not for me,' Nadir said, with a shrug. 'Travelling... and such.'

'We will not be travelling too long... a few weeks at most,' He looked at the child. 'I will need adult company... and I need someone to keep my money in order.'

'You've done a perfectly good job of that on your own,' he said, his mind sniggering from Erik's notion of needing company. Nadir knew only too well that Erik needed only Erik's company.

'Yes,' Erik conceded. 'So far.'

'Where are you even going?' Nadir asked, his accent puncturing the sentence, as he swiftly altered the subject.

'Through Spain and up to England,'

'And then what will you do?'

'Buy a home,' Erik said simply as he stood and walked to the child's basket. 'Find a nanny.'

Nadir nodded.

'Are you coming?' Erik repeated, his voice even, as always.

'No,' Nadir said decisively, 'but I'll escort you to the port.'

It was Erik's turn to nod as he leaned down to lift the case and the basket. Carrying one in either hand he followed Nadir out to the horses, who stood looking elegant and tall in the blazing sunlight. The first was tall and jet black, with a white patch of fir covering half of his face, he was hooked to a small carriage. The second horse was a soft, sand colour with white marks above each hoof and eye of an almost hazel colour.

Erik cast his own blue eyes slowly around him, glancing back at his cave, a small home set in a small mountain, set back enough that he was rarely disturbed but close enough that he could observe the town and the market place from where he lived. He had spent many days sitting in his window with the sun touching his bare cheek… looking out and musing over the people and their insignificant lives. Their worry and bustle evident, even in the sweltering heat.

Shimmers of sunlight often made the world too bright and he would retire back to his lightless room, where he regularly found his comfort.

And now he was simply leaving it all behind and for what? For a boy he had no knowledge of until the day before, for a boy he didn't care for… one he didn't want but one, for some reason almost beyond even _his_ comprehension, he felt obliged to care for.

Nadir mounted the light horse after throwing the bags he was carrying into the back on the carriage. Erik moved out from the shadow of his home and placed the basket into the carriage before tying it still with two lengths of rope. He then placed his case in and sat at the front, taking the reigns.

'Are you ready?' Nadir asked, flashing Erik a grin. Erik nodded, without a flicker of emotion, and jerked the reigns.

Before the sun began to set they were moving north towards the sea.


	7. Leaving Egypt

**Chapter 7- Leaving Egypt**

The horses drank quickly from the pool as they all stopped for rest. The baby had cried briefly but Nadir had managed to quiet him, leaving Erik to reflect in his own time. Every time the child made a peep he scowled and turned away but Nadir still continued to care for the baby as if it were his own.

Erik stood and patted his horse before securing it's carriage and the boy in the back. When he pulled himself up onto its back Nadir shot him a knowing look.

'I'm going to turn back,'

Erik stared at him.

'You haven't far to go now,' he said, jumping onto the brown mare's saddle. 'You'll be fine.'

'I think you should reconsider my offer, Daroga,' Erik stated simply.

'It's generous but no,' he said. 'My home is here now.'

'Okay,' Erik said with a shrug. 'Your decision. It's one made of poor judgement... but still, it is your decision.'

'The only reason you feel like you want me with you is to care for Joshua,' Nadir said as he nudged his horse past Erik's.

Erik frowned at him.

'Do you think that?' He asked.

'I know it,' Nadir said. 'I know how you are... I don't claim to understand why you do things or what actually goes on in your mind but I do know that you prefer your own company to mine... and I also know you don't _think_ you want Joshua.'

'I _know_ I don't want the child,'

'But you don't deny that you don't want my company,'

Erik lifted an eyebrow and Nadir simply shook his head.

'Good luck, Erik,' he said as he dug his heels into the sides of his mare. 'Write to me and tell me what fatherhood feels like.'

* * *

With that he was gone leaving Erik to continue his journey north with a child he didn't want. 

He fell to his knees and spat the blood out onto the floor in front of him, tasting it's metallic flavour oozing in his mouth. He looked up at his assailant in the darkness of cellar but could barely see his outline.

'Stop...' he croaked but the attacker continued relentlessly. He kicked his victim in the ribs and sent him spinning across the cold hard floor.

Pain coursed through his body.

'Please...' he murmured, defenceless... injured... bleeding.

Another shot from a fist to his right temple, the agony ripped through his muscles.

There was only one man beating him but it felt like a hundred. He had no way of getting up, no way of protecting himself from the onslaught.

He just took it.

He must accept death.

God would heal him.

By the time the next set of punches rained down onto his tired torso it wasn't death he feared, it was death he longed for.


	8. A Tale of Two Cities

**A/N: Please note high rating for this particular chapter. Violence. Thank you for the reviews. Starting to move the story along, read review, enjoy.. not a pleasant chapter.**

**Chapter 8- A Tale of Two Cities.**

It felt like it had been years since he had first had the weight of the child on his shoulders, its constant crying and need for attention was virtually unbearable and day by day Erik found himself gradually more irritated.

In fact it had been merely a little over a week and he was riding along the North coast of Spain, the horse plodding gently along the stony ground, covered with sprinkles of sand. The sun was bright and high in the sky, beaming down onto the land and covering it was a radiant, golden aura. He could see the docks, the boats were mooring and moving away, he could hear clearly the people shouting, working and he glanced back, in spite of himself, to check on the baby in the carriage behind him.

He looked fine.

Erik's mind tormented him... was it _unfortunate_ that the baby lived?

Erik shook the thoughts from his mind, letting Nadir's words echo in his ears, through his brain… _his mother has given him away… do you remember how that feels?... _Erik blinked as the sun blared into his eyes.

He guided the horse and cart around onto the wood of the dockland where he was met by a sturdy looking police officer. The tall man looked Erik up and down, paying particular focus to his mask before he brought his own eyes down onto the baby in the carriage. He glanced back to Erik.

'Signor,' he said and Erik groaned inwardly. 'Spanish?'

'No, Monsieur, I'm French,' Erik said in his elegant accent, his voice commanding respect from the unknown officer.

'Oui,' replied the officer. 'Where are you travelling to, monsieur?' he asked, in perfect French.

'England,' Erik said simply, and climbed from his horse.

'And, what is your business there?' the officer asked him, eyeing him suspiciously.

Erik rolled his eyes. 'Exactly that,'

'What?' the officer frowned.

'_My_ business,' he said. 'Not _yours_.'

The officer scowled, his eyes narrowed and his face began to redden with rage.

'I will have you arrested,' His voice rising in pitch, his eyes burning. Erik felt his own mind race, bile bubbled in his body, his anger was building as he looked at the poor excuse for law enforcement. Erik felt his hands curl, about to reach out for the man's throat.

'You'll have you excuse my friend,'

'And who are you, Monsieur?' the officer asked, turning his attention to the small man standing at his side, holding the reigns to a horse.

'Nadir,' he said simply. 'My friend and his son, Joshua, are travelling to England to visit his…' Nadir stopped and sucked in a slow breath. 'Wife's family.'

The officer frowned and Nadir gently, in only the way he could, took the officers elbow and pulled him aside, away from Erik.

'You see…' Nadir whispered, looking the policeman directly in the eye. 'His wife passed on not many weeks ago… his temperament has left… er… well, much to be desired recently…' Nadir stopped, looked at his feet. 'You must understand how it feels to lose someone so close to you?'

The officer searched Nadir's face with his eyes before nodding. 'What is your friend's name?' he asked.

'Erik and Joshua Valesk,' he said quietly. 'He is a talented composer and gifted musician… he intends to write music whilst he visits with his… wife's family.'

The police man thought for a moment before nodding again and then turning back to look at Erik who was standing, watching them, in silence.

'You may both pass,' he said and then, as if Erik wasn't amused enough, the officer tipped his cap towards him.

Nadir pulled his mare's reigns around alongside Erik and they both moved towards the boat before Erik turned to look at his friend.

'Daroga…' he began but Nadir stopped him.

'You're welcome,' he said quietly.

* * *

The floors rough surface not only dug deep into her skin, it was painfully cold and she shivered as she worked at the floor. She stopped scrubbing for long enough to glance, with sorrow, at the obliterated mass that was once her fair skin. Her hands were red, bloody and the skin was peeling back from the nails. As she continued to scrub the pain shot rapidly through her veins and she closed her eyes, gritted her teeth and held her breath to try to ignore it. Sometimes though the pain became oddly welcome as it reminded her that she was still alive, though living in squalor and cleaning for a family who could barely remember her name, let alone appreciate the efforts she made.

The pain reminded her of so many things she had done in her short life, it reminded her of all she had gained and lost, and worked for. She heard the floorboards creak above her and she scrubbed harder. She did not want to give her master a reason to be angry with her, today she wanted to simply finish the work she had to do and sleep a peaceful night.

'Girl,' his voice boomed over her and she forced herself to look up at his imposing figure, towering above her kneeling body.

She blinked. 'Sir?'

'Stand,' he demanded and immediately she knew what was coming. She stood slowly, and bowed her head in front of him. 'Look at me.'

And she did.

'Pathetic,' he sneered and she smelt the whiskey on his stale breath. She tried to look back down at his feet and as she did she felt the sharp pain that had become all too familiar wash over her face.

She dropped to the floor as the back of his huge hand connected with her cheek for the second time.

'Bitch,' he spat as he reached down, grasping her hair in his fist and pulling her up to look him in the eye.

She shivered and tried to move away, which proved a big mistake as he launched her tiny body towards the wooden steps.

He moved over her and grabbed her top, pulling it open to reveal her old undergarments. She closed her eyes, this was worse than it had ever been before. He kissed her mouth hard and she felt the rough texture of his unshaven chin against her. She swallowed and stopped herself from crying, held it in as he pressed himself against her.

'You're a pretty girl,' he whispered as he grabbed her breast roughly.

'Please…' she gasped as he bit her ear, she felt blood trickle down her face. 'Please… stop.'

He laughed loudly into her cheek as he fumbled for his belt, using his full weight to pin her to the stairs. She kicked against him in a vain attempt to push him away.

'You are a feisty _tart_ aren't you?' he growled. 'Don't play so hard to get… I've seen you looking, waiting for me…'

She choked back a sob and swallowed it down as she felt bile rise violently up into her throat.

He moved is hand up and pinned her wrist down to the step. 'You've been jealous of Elizabeth, but don't worry, there's enough for you…'

As he pressed himself hard against her and held her down she closed her eyes and took herself to years ago, to the bright place she was before, to her home and her family, to her father and her friends.

She took herself away.


	9. Lady in Black

**A/N: Please note that this story will not be conclude as an E/OC (I don't know if it will finish EC either) but for a large part of the story there will be other women in Erik's life.**

**Just to complicate the matter. **

**Please read, please review, please enjoy.**

**Chapter 9- Lady in Black.**

The sea was harsh and pummelled the side of the boat, causing it to sway threateningly into the waves of the water. Nadir sat with Joshua, who somehow slept through the chaos around him, and wished that he had stayed back in Egypt. The water beneath them was unforgiving as it threw the vessel around its surface, but still, Nadir knew that Erik was on deck, in the dark, breathing in the harsh sea air.

Nadir's stomach turned as he closed his eyes and tried to block away the smell of vomit around him. He could hear people fumbling into the corridors of the ship, falling down, being sick. He took a deep breath through his mouth and opened one eye to take another look at Joshua. Joshua's eyes were closed and, even over the shouting, he could hear his soft breathing, his tiny chest rose gently and then fell. Nadir held his stomach.

He was used to sailing, to being in rough seas and heavy rain, he'd fought in wars and travelled the world but this journey was affecting him badly. He gripped his abdomen.

The light in the room was sparse once more as the breeze through the gap under the door once again blew out the candle. The walls, the floor, the doors... his bones, they all creaked, the sea splashed against the boat, rocking it over and over and over and over his stomach turned.

* * *

Erik's eyes moved over the deck as the sea water splashed up and coated it with salt, they focused onto the cracks in the deck and watched as the water found its way into the crevices and dribbled through the gaps. He was hit with another gust of wind and folded his arms over his body, to protect himself from the onslaught. He walked to the side of the ship and glanced over the edge at the black water chopping away beneath him. It suited his mood well.

He leaned against the side and dropped his head into his hands, his mood blackening and changing with the motion of the unsettled waves. The sky was dark and encroaching, it seeped through the air and attacked the atmosphere with shadows. Erik enjoyed this cold, hard night.

Erik enjoyed most nights.

His hands fell back to his sides as he moved himself away from the edge of the ship and back towards the door into the cabin. He took another glance out over the ferocious sea, and touched his fingers tips softly to the coldness of his mask. It was damp with salt water and tonight, it felt foreign to his pitted skin. He sighed, his mood deepening and opened the door to the cabin, pulling it so that the wind didn't blow it closed, he stepped through the entrance and let the door slam hard behind him.

* * *

Erik walked into the dining area on the ship, the boat finally settling on the much calmer waves. The music in the room was soft, as was the lighting and Erik was conscious of the mask gripping his face. This would be the first time he had ventured into the open space of the dining room... in fact, it would be the first time he had ventured into any open space. His eyes followed the border around the room, eyes focusing on the people in there, speaking and getting ready for their food, then he looked down at his own body. He wore well cut, black trousers and a white shirt open at the neck with a buttoned up black dinner jacket. He moved his hand up to brush imaginary fluff from the sleeve and took a long, shallow breath, swallowing it down slowly to his lungs.

As he walked in people stopped to look at him, diverting their eyes from their own conversations to train them onto the man in black they had never seen before. The man who was, oddly, wearing a mask. Erik paid no attention, some people sneered but their comments had little effect on him. Very little had any effect on him at all. The ability to ignore the outside world was a particularly well practised talent of his and the fact that he now had a child under his wing was yet to change it.

He strode carefully and confidently to a table in the corner of the room and sat down, lifted the menu from the table and brought it up so that he could read it. Without looking around him he called for a waiter with such authority in his voice that the waiter was at his side in seconds.

'I'll need a chair for a baby.' he said simply.

'A baby sir?' The waiter asked with an English accent.

Erik lifted his eyebrows. 'Yes, one of those flesh coloured things, rather a small version of you or I.'

The waiter looked at him and when Erik forced a smile the waiter relaxed and smiled back.

'Right away,' And off he scurried.

Erik sighed and turned his attention back to the menu. His eyes drifted over the words on the page and took in very little, his mind was preoccupied. It was barely a minute before the tall waiter returned carrying an old looking, wooden high chair. He placed it next to Erik's seat and flashed him a bright smile.

'Are you ready to order?' he asked.

Erik frowned and looked at the empty chairs around the table then let his gaze fall back onto the waiter standing at his side.

'No,' he said simply and the waiter, without offence, turned and walked away. Erik looked at the menu again thinking that meat was probably not a good idea on this vessel, he had seen the state of the hygiene in the rooms.

Nadir walked over holding the baby in his arms. 'The chairs too big,'

'Good evening to you too,' Erik said, rolling his eyes.

'I can't sit Joshua in that,' Nadir continued. 'It's far too big.'

Erik shrugged and focused his attention straight back onto the menu. Nadir frowned and kissed the top of Joshua's head.

'Use the straps to hold the basket on,'

Erik frowned and looked up from the menu slowly, glancing first at Nadir and then to the origin of the voice. The woman was tall with dark hair and soft green eyes, she was wearing a black dress which complimented her shape and for a moment Erik was lost for words.

'Thank you,' he said simply and yet again turned his attention back to the menu. Nadir glanced at him and then back at the woman who was smiling to herself.

'Is he yours?' she asked, her green eyes resting on Nadir's stocky frame.

'No,' Nadir said and smiled, struggling to hold the baby and to grasp the straps at the same time. 'He's my friends little boy.'

The woman moved forward and reached out. 'Here, let me take him while you do that.'

Before Nadir could protest the lady had carefully lifted the child from his arms and, after cooing for a moment, rested him back in the basket that Nadir had placed on the table. Erik glanced discreetly over the top of the menu and watched as the woman touched the baby's face, making him giggle loudly and kick his feet.

'There,' Nadir said. 'All done.'

The woman smiled. 'Good.'

'Er...' Nadir began. 'Perhaps, if you're not otherwise engaged, you could join us for dinner... in way of thank you for your help.'

Erik's menu dropped from in front of his face and he stared incredulously at the small Persian, who was still smiling with a genuine look of pleasure on his face, at the intruder.

'Well,' she said, smiling, 'Your friend doesn't appear to be in a particularly social mood.'

'My friend suffers grumpiness in exchange for his genius,' Nadir said quietly. My name is Nadir and this is Erik Valesk.'

'I'm Fiona Windsor,' she said, staring at him. 'Lovely to meet you, Nadir.' she turned her body to slant towards Erik. 'And lovely to meet you too, Monsieur Valesk.'

Erik nodded and lifted his menu back to his eyes.

'Don't mind him,' Nadir said softly. 'He has the temperament of an old bear.'

'But he's a genius?' she asked, repeating what Nadir had said earlier.

Nadir smiled. 'More than you could imagine.'

Erik scowled and looked up from the card in his hands.

'Must you discuss me as if I'm not here?' he asked, his voice was cool.

'Then speak to us,' he said simply and held a seat out for Fiona.

'What is it that you do, Monsieur Valesk?' she asked, taking the seat and turning to face Erik.

'I don't have a singular profession,' he said and forced himself to hold back a sigh.

'Then you're a genius in more than one respect?' she asked and Erik bit his tongue, unsure of her tone... was she making fun of him or speaking with genuine interest?

'Several,' Nadir said with a wide grin covering his dark face. He was enjoying Erik's obvious disdain.

'Really?' she asked and Erik caught the brief twinkle in her eyes.

'I'm no genius,' he said simply and motioned for a waiter to come to the table.

'So what are your jobs then, Monsieur?' she asked, smiling at the waiter as he approached carrying a small notepad and pencil.

'I'll have the salad,' Erik said with a sigh and the waiter nodded and scribbled quickly on his pad before turning to Nadir.

'Salmon,' said Nadir, turning his attention from the young man taking his order back to Fiona. 'Erik here,' he said. 'Is an architect, composer and scholar,'

Fiona smiled to the waiter who blushed in response. 'Salad for me too, please,' she said and then glanced at Nadir. 'Really?'

'Well known for his architectural talents in Egypt,'

Erik couldn't help but smile at the half truth. Erik's work was indeed well known in Egypt, as was his name, but his face, his person, even his voice or hand writing, was not.

'And are you taking those talents to be with your wife in England?' she asked, watching Erik's eyes carefully.

'My wife is dead,' he said simply and Nadir wasn't sure if the look on Fiona's face was that of sorrow or relief.

'I'm sorry to hear that,' she said. 'The little boy, what is his name?'

Erik grimaced. 'Joshua,' he said.

'Joshua,' she repeated and thought for a moment. 'It's a lovely name... it suits him.'

Erik nodded and sipped his water while Nadir ordered another whiskey.

'Is architecture your main profession?' she asked, dipping her head and looking at Erik from under her long eyelashes.

'It is,' he said honestly. 'But music is my love.'

'Are you good?'

'At what?' he asked, knowing exactly what she was talking about.

'At composing?' she smiled.

Erik picked up a fork and rolled it slowly between his fingers. 'That depends on your taste, Mademoiselle Windsor.'

'Perhaps we have the same taste,'

'I doubt it,' he said bluntly.

'Erik is very good,' Nadir interrupted, sensing that the jovial mood of the evening was about to be replaced with the air of Erik's bad temper.

'I'm sure he is,' Fiona purred.


	10. Baby Joshua

**A/N: Read, review… x**

**Chapter 10- Baby Joshua**

'Perhaps you could escort me back to my chamber?' Fiona said softly, glancing sideways at Erik's commanding figure to her right. She caught the bright whiteness of his mask as he turned to look of the window to the now calm sea.

'I need to take my boy back to bed,' he said quietly, without looking at any of his companions.

'I'm sure your friend would be happy to do that,' she said, her voice was soft, it had such a subtle quality, such a disarming quality.

Nadir couldn't help but smile at the situation and at his friend's obvious discomfort.

'I would rather put him to bed myself,' Erik lied.

Nadir rolled his eyes. 'I can't remember the last time you put him to bed, Erik.'

'All the more reason for me to do so tonight,' he said sharply and Nadir giggled inside.

'It never bothered you before,' he wondered how long he could push it before the colour or Erik's eyes turned golden.

'It bothers me tonight,' he said simply.

'You would let a lady walk back to her cabin at the time of night alone?' she asked, she too obviously noting Erik's unease.

Erik looked at her. 'I'm not being rude…' he said. This was not the way he was used to behaving, so congenial, so social.

'You are,' Nadir said quickly and grinned.

'Truly,' Erik said, scowling and longing for his privacy. 'I'm not.'

'Then humour a lonely lady, Monsieur Valesk, I have so enjoyed your company this evening,' Fiona smiled and Erik, unable to protest any longer without his fury escaping, did something unprecedented.

He agreed to walk her back to her room.

* * *

Instead of walking directly to her room on the first floor of the boat Fiona had smiled and took Erik's arm, leading him out onto the slowly drying deck to overlook the nearly still sea. The stars were out now, bright and high above them, scattered across the sky like spilt crystal on a velvet blanket. 

Oddly, Erik felt comfortable with her hand clutching his bicep and he walked slowly, not rushing her out of his company.

'It's a beautiful night,' she commented, turning her supple green eyes onto Erik's dark face. Erik said nothing. 'Where do you come from Monsieur Valesk?'

Erik glanced down at her. 'France,' he said simply.

'No,' she said quietly. 'I mean… where does a man who looks and sounds so powerful… where does _that_ come from?'

The question threw him and for a moment he was baffled, at a loss for words.

'I have learned to be strong,' he said and the stupidity of the words struck him.

'What happened to your wife?' she asked, and looked away, as if she had asked a question she did not really wish to know the answer to.

'She passed on,' he said, reiterating their earlier conversation.

'Yes, you said… but how...?' Fiona asked, nodding, her eyes softening impossibly. 'How long has it been?'

'Childbirth,' he said slowly and hoped that Nadir had not mentioned anything when he had left the table briefly earlier in the evening.

'You have been on your own for so long,' she said. 'And you seem to have done so well with Joshua.'

Erik swallowed, he felt the back of his throat close in… _Christine_…

'I have coped well enough,' he said quietly, quickening his pace.

'You seem to have coped wonderfully,'

'Yes,' he said. 'Well, it isn't something I often think of.'

'I see,' she said and she acted as if she understood, as if she could... _Christine_… 'Just… one more question…'

He nodded to her.

'What was her name?'

'Christine,' he said and swallowed hard. Fiona watched his eyes carefully and he turned away, pulling her gently towards the door leading back into the cabins.

'Monsieur Valesk,' she said and he looked back at her. 'I can find my own way from here.'

He frowned. 'I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.'

'You didn't,'

'You lie beautifully,' he said and his mind reeled, what was he saying? He watched as Fiona's cheeks blushed pink in the candlelight.

'I'm not sure if that was a compliment,' she whispered, stepping towards him.

He took her hand and brought it carefully to his lips. 'It was.'

She smiled and he let his lips touch the softness of her skin, causing his own flesh to tingle. Gently she took her hand back from his and walked backwards, away from the shadow of his figure.

'I shall see you for breakfast,' she said as she walked away.

Erik nodded and turned to walk to his own room, his mind racing, wondering what was happening to him. He didn't mind the sensation that coursed through him though, he was oddly satisfied by his new approach, at least for the time being.

Fiona was actually interested in him, regardless of the mask and the cold demeanour and for the time being it suited him to have her around. Perhaps tomorrow he would get to know her better.

He turned into the next corridor and paced slowly up to his room, he glanced back down the corridor before pushing the door carefully open and moving quietly inside. As he entered he was stopped by the sound of soft breathing and for a moment thought that he had entered the wrong room.

His eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness, as they always did, and he walked towards the sound and looked down, seeing the sleeping child under the window. He sat down by the crib and balanced his elbows onto his knees and leaned his head against his hands, glancing down at the baby whose skin so reminded him of Christine's the softness of his youth… all of that Christine's.

Slowly, Erik stood and reached into the cradle to touch the boys face gently, and stroke his cheek with his finger.

'Well,' Erik whispered, to the sleeping child. 'It looks like it's just the two of us, isn't it Joshua?'

* * *

Her back ached as she eased herself into the tin tub in front of the blazing wood fire in the servant's quarters for her weekly bath. She tucked her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, pulling them into her body as she inspected her hands and wrists. 

They were becoming horribly thin, she was looking gaunt and tired, the black circles encasing her eyes only emphasised the dramatic change in her lifestyle. She could hear the wind whistling under the gap at the bottom of the wooden door to the shack and she was, for a moment, glad to be alone.

It was when she touched her bruised knees with her fingertips, and the pain jumped across her veins, that she began to cry softly. She dropped her head to rest it on her forearms and in the quiet of the room, above the soft crackles of the fire, she heard the tears she shed drip into the water around her thighs.

With all that had happened over the months leading up to what could be the most degrading time in her life nothing had hurt more than when she had left her home and those she loved. Even now, crouching into a small tin only just wide enough to fit her in, and warm enough to clean her, even after the treatment at the hands of her master, who thought that he could simply take her body at will or slap her when the drink became too much for him to handle… even when the other maids came down with illnesses, both contagious and deadly, and put her at risk or when the dogs bit her when she tried to clean their area in the pen… even those moments didn't compare to the heartbreak she had suffered before she arrived.

Not ever had she felt the way she did when she left the man she loved nor did it compare with the moment she had left her child with him and fled.


	11. Breakfast and Beginnings

**A/N: Thank you all! I still don't own anything!**

**Chapter 11- Breakfast and Beginnings**

The sun beamed brightly through the circular window into Nadir's cabin, glowing down gently onto his face and warming him with the morning air. He opened his eyes slowly, squinting them until they adjusted to the light, before he forced himself upright and glanced through the glass. The sea was barely moving but the boat was making progress along it's surface and Nadir reached over to lift his pocket watch from the small bedside table.

He blinked, nine in the morning, he had overslept this morning but as he pushed  
himself to the edge of the bed and then carefully to his feet, he realised that it was the best sleep he had had in years. His bones felt free and his muscles were supple and easy, he moved with no aching and smiled as he glanced at his trousers hanging over the back of the seat in the corner of the room.

* * *

After he had washed and dressed and quietly marvelled at the beauty of the morning he took a slow stroll up to breakfast room in the hope that they had not finished serving. When he walked into the dining area he was greeted by the sight of Erik's mask reflecting the sunlight as he sat chatting to Fiona Windsor. Not only was Nadir astounded but he was also pleased that Erik had found a companion for breakfast. Nadir's eyes drifted around and then to his amazement he spotted what Erik was holding.

On Erik's knee sat Joshua, giggling and comfortable and seeming perfectly at home with Erik, more unbelievable than that was the fact that Erik too appeared to be smiling and looked rather comfortable with Joshua... and with Fiona. Nadir walked over to the table, looking at Fiona, her long dark hair was pinned back away from her face and her green eyes shone as she focused her entire attention onto Erik.

'Morning,' he said and smiled at her, she returned his smile. 'It's a beautiful morning at that!'

She grinned. 'It certainly is.' she said and her eyes shifted towards Erik.

'Good Morning, Daroga,' he said, his voice neither happy nor sad, it was always even but something in the sharp blue colour of his eyes gave him away.

'Morning, my friend,' Nadir said and sat down next to him.

'If you'll excuse me gentlemen, I'll be back in a moment,' said Fiona and stood slowly causing both Nadir and Erik to rise to their feet.

As she walked away Nadir couldn't help but display a wicked grin, which spread from ear to ear, flashing a slightly crooked set of teeth.

'It appears you've made a friend,' he said, still smirking. Erik rolled his eyes and Nadir frowned. 'Something's different with you today.'

'Different?' he asked, moving Joshua from one knee to his other.

'Well,' he began. 'You're holding Joshua for a start... and, well, you're socialising.'

Erik frowned. 'I am not socialising, Daroga,'

'Then what are you doing?'

'She's beautiful,' he said, after thinking for a moment.

'Yes,' Nadir shrugged at the random statement. 'But that hardly answers my question.'

'It doesn't?' Erik responded and Nadir caught that same twinkle of mischief he had seen earlier, in Erik's eyes.

'Ahh,' Nadir said. 'Your _needs_.'

'In a way,' Erik said simply, rocking his knee up and down, causing Joshua to gurgle with joy. 'But in a way I am also looking out for Joshua's needs.'

Nadir's eyebrows raised involuntarily. Had Erik just called the lad Joshua? Had he _really_ just said his name?

'That's most admirable,' Nadir said, unable to keep the scepticism from his tone.

'Don't look at me like that, Persian,' he said sharply. 'Fiona is intelligent and beautiful and she appears rather taken with Joshua... and with me.'

Nadir opened his mouth to speak but Erik lifted his hand to stop him.

'Don't worry, Nadir,' he said, his tone becoming cool. 'I have not forgotten my origins or what lies beneath this mask... but Joshua needs a mother, whether it be Fiona or any other good willed, soft tempered woman.' Erik shrugged. 'I can't care for him alone.'

'I was thinking less of your face, more of your history, Erik, that is all,' he said.

'I appreciate your concern,' he said and left Nadir unsure of whether he was being genuine or sarcastic.

'Are you boys having fun?' Fiona asked as she returned to her seat.

'Of course,' Nadir said, his grin returning to his tanned features.

'Is everything alright?' Erik asked, and Fiona smiled.

'My mother,' she said simply.

'I thought you were travelling alone,' Nadir commented with a frown creasing his face.

'My mother...' Fiona began and she swallowed hard. Nadir started to wish he had not asked. 'She's... she's very ill.' She closed her eyes briefly. 'She's dying.'

Erik stared at her and then glanced from her quickly to Nadir, who was looking ashamed that he had asked.

'I'm sorry to hear that,' Nadir said, his throat feeling strained.

'No,' she said. 'Please, don't be sorry... she has had a good life. We have lived in Spain for years but she wished to return home to die, so we are en route to London... to give her wish.'

'Most honourable,' said Nadir, with sincerity, but Erik said nothing.

'Anyway,' she said, looking embarrassed a slight flush creeping along her neck and cheeks. 'Enough of that. Erik tells me you're heading to London also.'

'We originally thought Devon, but no, we're going to London now,' Nadir said. 'We're hoping Erik will become as famous there as he has been everywhere else,'

Nadir suppressed his grin as he teased the Phantom, for only they know he was the Phantom and their private joke, though Nadir found it amusing, often served to put Erik in a bad mood... which pleased Nadir greatly. His goal some days was to tease his friend to the point where Erik would skulk away. It wasn't for cruelty's purpose, more that Nadir was trying to help his friend, attempting to teach him that now he had escaped the prejudice and suffocation of Paris life then things did not have to be so bad, nor so serious.

Nadir smiled at Erik who made a show of rolling his eyes dramatically.

* * *

Erik held Joshua carefully to his knee as he sipped his glass of orange juice and watched as Nadir spoke to Fiona. There conversation seemed to come so easily, with little effort and Erik envied his friend for such a talent. Erik was not a people person... he had not even been a people ghost... until he had met Christine he had been content to spend his life alone in the cellar of the Opera Populair receiving occasional visits from the Persian and from his true friend, Antoinette Giry.

Of course, the day had then arrived that Christine was moved into the opera house and Erik, having seen her one day humming to herself in her dressing room, had been completely mesmerised by her voice and by her beauty. It was that night that he had followed the corridors through to the mirror and watched her through it silently, listening to her hum... and then, listening to her tears. To this day he did not know what had touched him so by those tears but when she cried and called her angel of music, Erik felt he had been left with no choice.

Foolish, as it were, it was the case that the very next night Erik had returned, violin in hand and played softly to her, the music he had composed in his solitude beneath her feet. She had been frightened, then confused and then fascinated. He remembered the softness of her deep, brown eyes as they looked around her, into the mirror, he remembered how she had sighed when he had returned the night after, a sigh not born of irritation but of relief, of contentment.

She had obviously been waiting for him.

It had been months before he had spoken or sang, he felt nerves like he had never felt before... after all, it was difficult to be nervous about trivial things when you had killed a man.

Erik shuddered at the recollection.

He had killed a man in self defence when he was merely a boy but the memory had stayed with him and, often, had kept him alive through his darker, younger years. His life had been a constant torment until the day he had met Christine, until he had seen her radiant smile, her overwhelming beauty. Erik was sure, even to this day, that he had never met another woman with such beautiful eyes as Christine. Her eyes were chocolate brown, the deepest, softest silk he ever could have imagined... and when they focused on him, even through the confines of the mirror, he had lost his heart.

Never, after the first day, was she wary of him, never until she met Raoul, did she run from him... never ,until those last months, had she betrayed him. He felt a pang and had to refocus his mind back to the table and to his breakfast companions.

His heart ached.

'Are you okay?' Fiona asked, her eyes fixed onto his. He forced a smile to his lips.

'Of course,' he said.

'You were somewhere else,' she said.

He smiled again. 'I was considering what I should do when I arrive in England,'

Nadir lifted his eyebrows and Erik shot him a look that meant _'don't'_...

'Perhaps we can go for dinner?' she said, smiling softly.

'I...'

'Erik, you were saying you would need someone to show us to the most lovely  
places to live,' Nadir interrupted before Erik could refuse. He had obviously seen the look in Erik's eyes that told him that he was thinking of Christine, and that the progress he had made recently might, all to quickly, crash to the floor around him.

'I know some wonderful places,' she said, excitedly. 'Where will you be staying until you find somewhere?'

Her enthusiasm was disarming.

'We'll be staying with an old friend of Erik's,' Nadir said standing from the table. 'Erik...' He placed a hand on his friends shoulder as he walked past. 'Think about it,'

Erik nodded.

'Fiona, please excuse me,' he said. 'I understand we are close to shore and I wish to gather my belongings and check on my horse.'

'Of course,' she said and bid him farewell.

When he had left the room she slanted her body towards Erik and reached out to grasp his free hand, causing Erik to fight the urge to place it in his pocket.

'I know this must have been such a terrible year for you, and,' she stopped and thought for a moment. 'At the risk of pushing you further away or offending you...'

Erik stared at her.

'I just think that you should give me a chance,' she said, moving closer. 'I can't believe how forward I'm being but I feel you need to know... I'm... I'm very attracted to you and more than that I'm curious to get to know you... curious about so many things about you...'

Joshua giggled and Erik glanced down at him, almost feeling compelled to gently kiss his forehead.

'Erik...' she said. 'Please see me in London, I know you must be curious about me too.'

'Of course,' he said simply.

'Oh, Erik,' her voice was barely audible. 'I know you must feel frightened, you and Joshua have both been through so much... but you need to give your life a chance, for both of your sakes,' she whispered.

Erik thought for a moment and, despite his inner dreads, caved to her wishes. 'Okay,' he said. 'I think you're right.'

'I know I am,' she said softly, there was no arrogance in her words, merely conviction.

'Let me walk you back to your room and I shall then see you in London,'

'Would you like my address or will you give me yours?' she asked.

'I will give you mine,' he said simply and stood from his chair.


	12. Acquaintances

**A/N: Thank you readers. Make my Christmas, read, review, enjoy… come back for me and to anyone who reads this- A Very Merry Christmas to you ALL! **

**The story begins to move forward from now... more Christine to come. Stick with me!**

**Chapter 12- Acquaintances **

They stepped off and guided the horses from the ship carefully to the stones of the dockland and the realisation that they had arrived in England was harsh. The stark skies glowed a dull and greying yellow over the top of thick clouds, which hung ominously in the air. Although it was not raining the air was damp and cool, washing over them as they moved towards the gate, leaving tiny droplets

Erik glanced up at the dark sky and frowned, before letting his eyes drift back down and focus onto Nadir, who was huddling himself to the side of his mare to avoid the lashings of wind. Erik wandered to the edge of the path, and checked the cover to his carriage was securely fastening over Joshua. Satisfied that he was safe and that the carriage was not going to give up in the harsh wind he signalled to Nadir that he was ready to leave.

Nadir's nod was enough and Erik jumped up and tugged the reigns to the left, causing the horse to move over and exit the gate, followed closely by Nadir.

'Erik!'

He spun around to look at a carriage coming alongside him, controlled by a tall gentleman in a dark suit, Erik looked into the window.

He smiled. 'Fiona,'

'See you in London?' she said with a tone of question in her voice.

Erik's smile faded as quickly as it arrived and he nodded as she veered left and quickly became a dot on the distant horizon.

* * *

'Well, well,' 

Erik smiled as he leaned against the frame of the door staring at his old friend.

'And Nadir as well,' she said, her grin widening. 'To what do I owe the pleasure?'

As if answering the question the sound of baby cries echoed through the room causing Antoinette Giry's eyebrows to lift into a surprised arch. Nadir shot her a warm smile before stepping out of the room and returning with the basket in his hand. Joshua had stopped screaming the moment Nadir had lifted him up and now he lay, his wide blue eyes staring up, giggling at the Persian. Antoinette swallowed her shock quickly and walked slowly to Nadir, glancing over the edge of the basket to look at the baby. Gently she reached in and lifted him out, pulling him to her shoulder and stroking his back as he gurgled with immeasurable pleasure.

A woman's touch.

'So, Phantom,' she said, rocking Joshua. 'Who is the boy?'

Erik stepped into the room and stood in front of Antoinette. 'Joshua,'

'And who is Joshua?'

Nadir looked at Erik who shrugged calmly and sat down onto the settee closest to the fire.

'Joshua is Christine's son,' Nadir said as he realised that, though Erik appeared calm, he had been asked a question that he did not want to answer.

'Really?' Antoinette said, a look of subtle disbelief appearing briefly on her features.

'Yes,' Erik said.

'You know,' Antoinette stopped to think. 'I heard something along the grapevine about the nobility in France being in trouble...and that civil war was brewing…' she sighed. 'I suppose I should have paid more attention instead of dismissing it as frivolous gossip.'

Erik glanced at her and thought for a second that he spotted a tear glistening in the corner of her eye.

'Are they...' she squeezed Joshua to her chest. 'Are they... gone?' she didn't quite know how to phrase the question and although in her mind she knew exactly what she wanted to say, in her heart the words simply couldn't form.

It was Nadir who spoke. 'It's... likely,' was all he could say as he watched the tear that had been clinging so desperately to Antoinette's eye finally lose it's grip and fall down her cheek.

'You poor thing,' she whispered, as she held Joshua's tiny face to her lips.

Nadir was glad that Joshua was too young to understand.

'So,' Erik said as he stood up. 'Antoinette, Can we...'

He was cut off by the sound of a sharp scream in the doorway. Erik spun around to look at its origin only in time to see the back of a dress flee from the room. Erik frowned before wrapping his cape around him and making chase out of the living room, through the corridor and out of the front door. As he stepped outside he glanced around him at the cobbled streets of London and looked to his left just in time to see the same material disappear into the alleyway at the side of the house. Erik placed his hand on the railing along the steps and jumped over it, darting around the corner and running down the alleyway. It was mere seconds before he caught up with the girl, he grabbed her wrist and spun her around sending her back crashing into the brick wall of the building. She yelped in pain and doubled over holding herself and cowering away from Erik's dark and imposing figure.

He grabbed her elbow and lifted her up to stare into her eyes.

'Erik!' he glanced sideways to see Antoinette Giry bolt along the alleyway. 'It's Meg, please Erik... please put her down!'

Erik stared back at the shivering Meg Giry and grunted.

'Meg are you okay?' Antoinette asked, as Erik loosened his grip on her daughters arm, but did not let go.

Meg nodded.

'Erik please, let her go,' Antoinette pleaded.

He stared at her. 'No, not until we're back in the house.'

Erik's temper glowed in his eyes as the golden flecks attacked the blue, obliterating it's smooth texture turning them jagged and edged. His glare focused on Meg who was shaking violently in his hand as his long figures curled around her arm and he dragged her through the alleyway back towards the house. The air was damp and clogged his lungs and the late summer sun was nowhere to be seen. Antoinette had ceased to argue with him over her daughter knowing that the more she protested the more irritated he would become, instead she followed them back, walking close to Meg to attempt to reassure her that everything was fine.

Of course, to Meg, everything was far from fine.

When they reached the bottom of the steps up to the Giry house Erik launched Meg, with very little effort, towards the door way. Her blonde hair fell over her eyes, hiding her tears as she lurched forward and attempted to regain her balance.

'Go inside,' Erik growled.

Meg didn't need to be told twice. She slunk away and into the living room, where she curled herself up behind the couch and poked her head over the top. Antoinette followed her in and wrapped her arms around her shivering daughter, kissing her hair gently. Erik had slightly less sympathy when he walked in and stared at her from the door to the living room.

'Stupid child,' he said and watched as Meg pulled her mother closer.

'Meg its fine,' Antoinette whispered. 'Let me explain...'

'What do you want with us?' Meg said and Erik wondered where she had summoned that particular ounce of courage from.

He shrugged.

'Meg, darling,' Antoinette said softly. 'Shh... listen to me... Erik is...'

'Who?' Meg said, glancing up at her mother.

'Erik... the man in the mask, Meg... that's Erik,' she said. 'His names Erik, not ghost or phantom, it's Erik and he's a friend of mine.'

Meg pulled away from Antoinette's tight grip and stared at her uneasily and then glanced over to Erik, who was stony faced in the centre of the room.

'But...'

'But nothing, child,' Antoinette said. 'We have been friends for many, many years.'

'Mother,' she said, her tone demanding. 'He's killed people... he's...'

'Yes,' Antoinette replied. 'He has killed people but don't think that those did nothing to him first... don't ever believe the rumours, Meg.'

'How could I not?' she murmured. 'What about Christine..?'

Erik spun around to glare at her. 'What about her?' he snarled.

Meg swallowed hard and buried herself back into her mother's warm body as Erik moved towards them and towered over them.

'Erik...' Antoinette said but the sharpness of Erik's eyes as he trained them onto her made her stop in her tracks.

'I said,' he repeated. 'What about her?'

Meg blinked back tears. 'I... she...'

'What?' he stormed, his eyes glowing bright.

'You followed her... hurt her...'

Antoinette closed her eyes.

'Did she say that?' he asked, now his tone was mocking, sarcastic, almost amused.

'Well... not exactly...'

'Not exactly,' he spat. 'What exactly... did she say?'

'She called you angel...' Meg choked.

'And tell me, fool,' he growled, lifting his hand to quiet Nadir as it appeared he was about to interrupt their little conversation. 'Tell me, does that sound like a woman who was scared of me? Who was hurt by me?'

Meg shook her head slowly.

'Enough, Erik,' Antoinette said. 'Please.'

'Tell your daughter, Antoinette,' he barked. 'Keep her in line.'

She looked down at Meg. 'He is my friend and he loves Christine, he never  
hurt her.'

'Are you sure?' she asked quietly.

'Positive,' she said and pushed herself to her feet, holding her hands out to help Meg up. 'Now, enough of this, I have the feeling Erik and his son will be staying with us for a while, am I right, Erik?'

He nodded, his eyes still focused on Meg's tiny body huddled close to her mothers.

'And we will make them most welcome,' She said guiding Meg towards Erik. 'Make us a drink, Meg, and then later we shall talk about this.'

Meg nodded and started to walk out of the room.

'Meg,' the phantom's voice was deep and rich, her name from his mouth almost sounded exotic. 'My name is Erik Valesk, should anyone ask, I am an architect and composer from Egypt, are we clear?'

She nodded once more without turning to face him.

'And Meg,' he said. 'If I should happen to hear the word phantom or anything of the sort I may just prove the rumours about me to be true, do you understand?'

Meg swallowed loudly. 'Yes,' she whispered and walked out of sight.

* * *

'Erik, was there really any need?' Nadir said as Erik took to his bed by the fireplace.

'When have I ever done anything without having a reason to, Daroga?' Erik said, his temper not improving.

'She's a child,'

'She is not a child... though she acted like one,' Erik snapped. 'Listen, it's important that no one finds out who I am... as you have already pointed out, I have a chance of a new start over here, I don't need anyone ... _anyone_ ...ruining that,'

Nadir groaned inwardly. 'Was there any need to threaten her?'

'Yes,' Erik replied simply and lay his head back down onto his pillow.

'You have probably upset Madame Giry,' Nadir said as he too pulled the blanket up around his neck and tucked his knees up to his chest.

'I probably did,' Erik conceded. 'But if I had upset her too much she would not have allowed us to stay.'

'You probably frightened her,'

Erik stared and then began to chuckle. 'Frightened her?' he gasped, laughing harder.

'What's funny?'

'Nadir, my friend,' he laughed. 'Antoinette Giry is certainly not frightened of me.'

'Everyone else you meet is!' Nadir said and smiled in the darkness.

'Not her, Persian,' he said, staring out of the gap in the curtains towards the now clear sky. 'She is not afraid of me.'

Nadir's grin widened. 'Why not?'

'Because she knows that, despite my troubles and temper, I love her dearly,' he whispered and Nadir found himself surprised by the phantom of the opera again.

'You love her,' Nadir said.

'Dearly,' Erik repeated. 'She is my oldest friend.'

'I thought I was,' Nadir said, trying to stop a chuckle of his own, for he knew that Erik held allegiance to very few people.

'Nadir,' he said. 'Antoinette and I have been friends since I was a boy.'

'How did you meet?' he asked, with genuine curiosity.

The last thing Erik said to Nadir that night was 'We met at the fair,'


	13. Worlds Apart

**A/N: Two more chapters for Christmas and then probably an update first week of the new year.**

**Please read and review. Have a great Christmas.** X

**Chapter 13- Worlds Apart.**

Fiona's radiant smile greeted him from the huge doorway and for a moment his stomach lurched and he was unsure what to feel. The sun shone down in the cloudless morning sky and reflected from window, causing Erik to lift his hand and shield his face. What a difference a day makes, he thought, as he stepped down from the carriage and held the door open for his companion. Taking his hand, Fiona stepped into the carriage carefully, ducking under the door and seating herself in the far corner. Erik climbed in after her and smiled uneasily.

'Driver,' Fiona called and Erik watched as the driver turned his body to face them. 'Take us to Kensington, would you?'

The driver nodded and jerked the reigns, causing the horse to step forward slowly and then begin a gentle trot along the cobbled streets of London. Fiona slanted herself to look at Erik, who was sitting with his eyes focused out of the window.

'How are you, Erik?' she asked, reaching over and placing her hand on his. He flinched but didn't move it away.

'I'm fine,' he said and then added. 'Thank you,'

'Are you enjoying your stay in England so far?' she smiled, adding pressure to his hand.

'It's fine,' he said, his eyes shifting back to the window.

'Man of few words today, aren't you?'

Erik looked at her. 'I'm sorry, I'm tired.'

'Perhaps today will be just what you need,' she said softly, and his attention moved down to her hand on his as her thumb moved gently over his skin. He swallowed hard.

'Where are you taking me?' he asked, attempting to fight his inner urge to drag his hand away and leap out of the carriage.

'Well, Nadir had said you were looking for somewhere to live,' she smiled. 'I thought I would show you some of the nicest places... someone as gifted and mysterious as you are should be living somewhere beautiful.'

Erik nodded and leaned his head back against the seat, his mind drifting to the past and the people he once haunted, to his home beyond preying eyes below heavy feet. He saw Joseph Bouquet and Piangi and squeezed his eyes closed as he felt Fiona's pressure on his hand. Mostly, when he thought back, he thought of Christine and all of her beauty. When he opened his eyes Fiona was leaning over him, a look of concern creasing her lovely features.

'Are you okay?' she asked as his eyes adjusted to her face.

'Yes,' he said, nodding.

She frowned. 'Are you sure?'

'I was just thinking,' his voice was quieter than he had ever let her hear it.

'About Christine?' she asked and he simply nodded.

She squeezed his hand gently as the carriage rounded the next corner.

* * *

Christine's finger moved along the rim of the cup as she sat huddled in the corner of the servant quarters. She had tucked her feet up under her body and rapped an old, tattered shawl around her arms to keep her warm. The usually small fire had stopped blazing and the heat in the room had all but vanished by the time the new member of staff was thrown into the quarters, with no introduction from their master. She was small and thin with dirty blonde hair which was matted to her face by the rain. Christine looked at her bluing hands and wondered where the summer had gone. 

The girl stood with her hands clasped tightly in front of her, in the centre of the room. The other women turned their faces away and talked quietly to each other pretending that she was not there, as they had done with Christine. Christine blew warm air out from her mouth in a tired sigh and forced her aching body up so that she could walk to the girl. As Christine approached, she back away, her eyes widening in fear, and Christine wondered when she had become so frightening.

'It's okay,' Christine said quietly, holding her hand out. 'Whets your name?'

The girl stared. 'Sarah,'

'Sarah, why don't you come in and get warm?'

Sarah didn't move.

'Please?' Christine said stepping forward and reaching out. As she got closer she noticed that the girl looked no older than fifteen and as she took her hand carefully she noticed it's already rough texture. Christine held her hand and guided her to the corner where she sat down her down and shared her shawl with her.

How old are you, Sarah?'

The girl blinked, shivering under the shawl. 'Sixteen.'

'Very young to be doing this,' Christine said. 'Where are your parents?'

'Dead,' the girl's bluntness surprised Christine. 'Consumption.'

'I see,'

'Whats your name?' Sarah whispered.

'Chrissie,'

'And how did you get here?'

Christine swallowed down the solid lump in her throat. 'Can I tell you a secret?'

Sarah nodded and something in her eyes comforted Christine, made her believe that perhaps Sarah would actually keep her secret but regardless, she had to tell someone, anyone, the secrets, all of them, were eating her up inside.

'My real name is Christine de Chagny, not Chrissie Levell,' she whispered as she gently rubbed the girl's arms, trying to warm her. 'Believe me or not but I was once nobility in France... my husband, Raoul, was murdered some months ago in a brewing civil conflict.' Christine closed her eyes. 'I can see his face... I can still see him every day.'

Sarah frowned but remained silent as the candles in the room began to die out and leave the servants in darkness.

'They killed him for our name and money...' A tear slipped from Christine's eye. 'I have a son.'

'Where?' Sarah asked.

'I don't know,' Christine's honest reply made Sarah look back up at her. 'I had to give him to a friend to protect... I haven't seen him in months.'

'I...' Sarah swallowed. 'I'm so sorry.'

Christine forced a smile to her lips. 'I know that wherever he is, he is safe,'

* * *

Erik's eyes drifted over the large house in front of him as he walked up, arm in arm with Fiona, to the doorway. 

'I love the garden,' she said as she pushed the door open and they walked inside. The entrance hall was huge and decorated in a dark wood, which glowed with sun light from the large window above the door behind them. The stairs were directly ahead, with a wide base which tapered in the middle and then spread out again onto a huge landing. Fiona turned to look at Erik.

'Do you like it?' she asked, staring at his emotionless face.

'Yes,' he said honestly and walked into the room to his right.

'I like it too,' she said softly. 'I think it would really suit you and Joshua.'

Erik nodded. 'Perhaps.'

'Well,' she said. 'It's your decision but you can't live with your friend forever.'

'Nadir,' he said thoughtfully. 'Nadir will live with me for as long as we're here.'

'I meant Madame Giry,' she said with a smile.

'Ahh,' he said, knowing that she was right, and hating it. They stood facing each other in the long dining room and Fiona tilted her head when she looked at him.

'You have beautiful eyes, Erik,' she said and stepped in closer.

'Thank you,' He said, without moving. She rose onto her tiptoes and placed her lips gently on his, sliding one arm around his body, leaning against him. At first he resisted, his mind screaming at him to stop her, and then his lips surrendered to her warmth and he kissed her back.

He wasn't sure if he meant it.

When she pulled away her green eyes looked sharp and they sparkled with his reflection. He looked down at her and, inside, he sighed.

'I'm sorry,' she said as a pink flush spread over her face.

'What for?' he asked, looking at her.

'For... that...' she said. 'I just... there's something about you, Erik, something so captivating.' she sighed and placed her hand gently on his chest. 'I don't know if it's your eyes or your voice... but something about you makes me want to be around you.'

'You don't know me,' he said sharply and then watched as the hurt spread across her face. 'I'm not the man you think I am.'

'Then let me get to know you,' she said softly, moving her hand up to his throat and then to cup his strong jaw. Her hand was soft on his skin. 'I want to know you.'

She smiled and stroked his jaw.

'I'm not a good man,'

'Let me make up my own mind,' she said as she moved her hand across. 'Let me learn about you... let me see what is in here.'

As her fingers curled around the cold, ceramic of his mask his initial thought was kill her on the spot. He grabbed her wrist firmly and pulled it down from his face, throwing her away from him to the ground by the wall. She looked up at him with surprise and he knelt down by her side pressing the mask against her face as he placed his lips by her ear.

'Listen,' he growled. 'Very carefully.'

She nodded.

'This mask I wear... I wear it for a reason.' his eyes were shining and cold. 'What is under there is my secret and my torture, is that understood?'

Again she nodded, tears forming in her eyes.

'We will never mention this again, will we?' he asked, as he stood up and helped her to her feet.

She shook her head.

* * *

The freedom he had managed to find as he crawled out through a gap he had dug in the cellar was short lived. He clambered on all fours, out of breath and drained of strength, through the bushes into the field which seemed to go for miles to his tired eyes. Still he pulled himself, with his arms, over the mud and dirt as the rain pummelled his face. He squinted through it and by some twist of fate he managed to get himself, in one piece, to the other side where he collapsed against a tree and tried to regain his breath. He scanned his surroundings in the cold, dark night and the rain washing over him was as welcome as it was unwelcome. He had missed the sensation of weather on his features, the smell of the rain after a hot day and he missed the feel of wet grass under his feet, the sound it made when his boots slipped on it. 

He looked around him, with his back to the tree and saw lanterns moving across the field, people shouting and carrying weapons. He sighed and crawled through the woodland, which was short and led to a fence, over which he could see street lamps glowing. All he had to do was find the strength to climb over it.

Taking one more cautious glance over his left shoulder, ensuring that he had not been seen, he somehow pulled himself to his feet and gripped the top of the wooden fence. With every ounce of power he had left in him he dragged himself up to the top and let his body fall over it.

He crashed down to the floor on the other side letting out a muffled cry as his arm crushed underneath him. The last thing he heard before the pain overwhelmed him and he passed out was, 'Pick him up.'


	14. Seven Year Itch

**A/N: This is still not necessarily an E/OC. Stick with it and review x**

**Chapter 14- Seven Year Itch.**

_London, 7 years Later._

'Erik!' The big man reached out and grasped his hand, shaking it vigorously. 'So good to see you!'

Erik smiled and stepped into the well lit hallway. 'Good to see you too,'

'I'm so glad you could make it, it's been too long and I hear you've been working far too hard,'

'Hard enough,' Erik said, taking the glass of wine from the waitress and walking with his companion, Michael Bailey through to the ballroom.

'Christmas is upon us, Erik,' Michael said jovially, his big hand patted Erik's shoulder. 'And a little birdie tells us you have a special treat to be played in her Majesty's Grand Theatre in the new year.'

His firm English accent stuck like bullet in Erik's head.

'Indeed he has,'

'Ahh, the soft tones of a woman!' Michael said turning to the dark haired woman, who was hooking her arm through Erik's.

'I'm sorry I'm late,' she whispered as she rested her lips on Erik's cheek.

'So good of you to join our Christmas party,' Michael grinned. 'Madame Valesk.'

* * *

The energy in the room was almost suffocating as people laughed, ate small starters and mingled. Erik straightened his back and walked through the large arched doors into the crowds of people. Some turned to look at him, the ones who frowned at the mask on his face had never met him before. Those who had met him before simply smiled and bided their time until they walked, acting casually, into his company. 

He found it highly amusing as he stood there, his beautiful wife Fiona on his arm, and people bustling around him, that Erik Valesk was loved for his genius, admired for his wealth, envied for his family and loathed for his temper. The people who knew his temper simply avoided it but did not avoid him for his wealth and influence in the nobility had simply grown and grown over the years.

Her Majesty's Grand Theatre had been designed, built and occupied by Erik, it was one of his greatest achievements. It took him almost a year to design it and present the drawings personally to her Majesty. She was impressed and made no reference at all to the mask and despite her cool reputation (or perhaps because of it) he had found her company most enjoyable. The team he had gathered to build the project had been elite, only the best of the best would do and they were led by Nadir, who was still a trusted friend and companion. Erik was a slave driver of a boss, demanding hard work and perfection every day of the year through sunshine, wind, rain and snow, until the job was completed in little over a year.

The Queen had been ecstatic and Erik had taken the time to build her box personally, lavishing it with his undivided attention and material of the highest quality. His attention to detail was rewarded with the commission to build her another theatre further north in a place they knew as Birmingham. He designed and had Nadir over see the project, looking on them every few weeks to ensure that the theatre would be up to Queen Victoria's wishes.

It was.

By this point, barely three and a half years after he fled to England, he had more money than he knew what to do with, more offers of work and more social invitations than his butler could sort through. The first opera to be played at Her Majesty's Theatre in London, six months after it was built, was one chosen by Erik himself and written by a young man called Anthony Garder. He was unknown and it was a risk... which paid off beautifully as the show was a hit with all critics and fans alike.

His achievements grew, not only the unprecedented design and build of two monumental theatres in an unbelievably short space of time but his composing and his music became the talk of the city.

Erik composed his first piece for the theatre in London only two years previously, three years after it opened. It was a rapturous success and his popularity grew. Fiona had remained by his side, in spite of his poor temper, and he had rewarded her with jewels and finally, four years ago, marriage.

The Phantom of the Opera had been married for nearly four years.

Erik stood next to the bar and kissed Fiona's hair delicately as she stood beside him and asked the tender for a Sherry. As he sipped his wine he cast his eyes over the crowded room and was stopped by a man standing in the far corner. The man had not seen him but he looked familiar. He had short golden hair, neatly cut and was clean shaven. From the distance Erik could make out dark eyes and a tall frame, he was accompanied by several woman and wore the finest attire. As Erik stared the man turned away from him and walked out of the room leaving Erik to wonder who he was and whether or not he recognised him personally or had simply seen him at one of his shows.

Little did he know that the answer to his questions were simple. He knew the man both personally and had seen him at his shows.

* * *

'She's fabulous,' Fiona gushed as she admired the cleanliness of the crystal. 

'She is,' Deborah Bailey said with a bright smile. 'The best we've ever had.'

Fiona nodded. 'Our head maid has moved on, we're looking for someone just like her.'

'I'll ask Michael,' Deborah said, taking Fiona's arm firmly and walking with her our of the living room. 'I'm sure he won't object to you and Erik using her of a weekend.'

'Really?'

'I don't see why you can't.' Deborah walked back into the main hall. 'Clear it with Erik first though dear, you know how they can be!'

Fiona really didn't know how they could be. Though Erik's character was a dominant one he often enjoyed his own company, writing his opera's or producing his drawings alone for hours on end. He left Fiona to deal with the household matters and trusted her judgement and, for the most part, her decisions. Their marriage had never been a particularly close one but they were both happy enough in it. The arrangement suited them both and often Erik could give her the impression that he actually loved her.

Of course, she loved him.

He was beautiful, with eyes as deep as the ocean and features so dark they were attractively mysterious. His intelligence and genius was vast and it had taken her only a few months to realise that all Nadir had said about him when they first met were true. Architect, scholar and musician. And perfect at each... however, the night he had truly captured her heart was the night she had walked along the hall in his new home and heard him playing piano and singing to the music. She had fallen so deeply in love with him then that there was no escaping. Never had she heard a voice like his before.

Fiona often wondered about Erik's first wife, what she was like, how she coped with his moods and his genius, she often wondered what she looked like, whether she knew how talented he was and whether she thought of him from heaven. Erik never spoke of her and the mere mention of her name early in the relationship had caused such a stir in his eyes that she had been almost frightened the mention it again.

He had also made sure that Joshua grew up knowing that Fiona was not his mother but he was to respect her at all times and respect her he did, but he never loved her. Father and son were close, they spent long hours together, Erik home schooled him mostly and Joshua was popular with everyone he met. He must have received his charm from his mother for he certainly had not got it from Erik. What he had got from Erik was still a mystery to her but she did suspect that his brains came from his father and she also thought that Joshua probably had hidden talents that Erik had not let allowed him to show.

The nanny that they had hired was wonderful and caring and gave Joshua all of the attention he needed when Erik was away, when Erik was there the nanny was rarely needed. As silly as it seemed to her that such a powerful man, such a cold man could come apart for a child, it was true. Erik doted on Joshua and sometimes Fiona thought that it was probably because he had loved his wife so dearly that Joshua was held close because he had once been a part of her.

Fiona felt his arm slip around her waist and she allowed her body to curve into his.

'Are you ready to leave?' he whispered into her ear. 'You know how I despise these events.'

Fiona smiled and kissed his lips.

She was ready to leave.


	15. Maestro

**A/N: I'm sorry it's been a while. Read and review. **

**Chapter 15- Maestro **

His eyes drifted over the stage and from where he was standing he could see everything. He stood high above the grand circle staring down at the debacle before him as the dancers fell over themselves and made a mockery of his set. His forehead burrowed into a deep frown as he clenched his hands to fists. Antoinette Giry stood by the side of the stage shaking her head before she brought her cane crashing to the floor sending an enormous echo around the empty theatre. The girls looked over, sheepishly, at her dark figure and they reformed, beginning the dance over.

Erik shook his head.

'I've seen enough!' he growled and the girls stopped, glancing around them in shock as his words bounced around them. Antoinette Giry simply stepped off the stage and out of the back door. She did not need to look around her for she already knew where he was.

Erik ran his hand through his hair, tugging it in frustration as he walked towards the passageway, hidden behind him. He slipped out and climbed along the ropes until he was backstage standing in front of Antoinette who gave him a sorrowful smile.

'Erik,' she said, rising to greet him with a soft kiss on the each cheek, the ceramic of his mask was cold on her lips. 'I'm surprised to see you today.'

'So I see,' he said with a grunt and walked to the curtain. Antoinette followed and they both peered through the gap at the girls on stage. 'Right.' he said, before throwing the curtains open and storming out onto the stage.

'Giry,' he said, staring at Meg. She nodded. 'Go home, no more practice for you... you're the only decent dancer here and you run the risk of injuring yourself in your attempts to carry their lazy weight.'

Meg opened her mouth to protest but her mother's stern look told her to remain quiet and do as she was told.

'Who are you?' One of the girls asked, standing up to face him. Erik frowned before breaking into a grin which was somehow, oddly, colder than his eyes.

'Child,' Antoinette said, stepping between the furious phantom and the unknowing girl. Antoinette had seen that grin cross his face before and with it she understood the depth of his fury. When he smiled that way it could only mean that he was trying to keep his temper and it was surfacing as a grin. 'This is Monsieur Erik Valesk, he wrote the opera...'

'But he doesn't command us...'

'And built the theatre...' she said, her eyes glossing a cold grey. The girl swallowed hard as she realised the extent of her insolence.

Erik smiled in amusement at the girls fear. 'Those of you standing,' he said. 'May stay.'

The ten girls who were standing looked at one another, slowly grouping together, and then they looked down at the girls who were sitting on the floor. With a sinking feeling Meg continued to walk towards the exit, fear of Erik compelled her on and although she wanted to she didn't quite have the nerve to stand up to him.

Even now.

'Those of you sitting,' he snarled, his eyes frost bitten as he watched the back of Meg's dress float out of sight. 'Leave, you're fired.'

The dancers looked at each other and then at the tall man, with the mask, who stood in the centre of the stage.

'Now,'

Antoinette said nothing, instead she moved forward and ushered the girls to their feet.

'Why?' one girl asked, tears sparkling in her pretty green eyes.

'Because,' he replied as he stepped towards her. 'If you are too lazy to continue to practice after your ballet mistress has walked away then you will never be good enough to take part in one of my productions... do you understand?' His voice was hard and cold.

The girls nodded and walked away, some were crying but Erik felt nothing as their feet slowly trudged away from him. He felt nothing as their soft sobs sounded in his ears and he felt nothing as he saw Antoinette's look of disappointment. The girls murmured to each other and some tried to comfort each other.

'It's okay,' he heard.

'Yeah, of course,' one said. 'We'll get other chances.'

'What does he know anyway,' one whispered. 'He's just a freak in a mask... he doesn't run every theatre.'

Antoinette could not turn quickly enough to stop him as Erik leapt across and grabbed the offending dancer by the throat throwing her to the ground. Her head bounced from the floor and she gripped it tightly. He stared down at her quivering figure, curling into a ball, as she began to cry. The other girls, rather than defend their friend, stepped back away from him as his eyes glowed in anger.

He leaned down and stared into her eyes, so close that she could feel the moistness of his breath on her cheek.

'A freak indeed,' he snarled at the whimpering girl. 'But one who will at least not have to turn to the streets for their money.'

He grabbed her forearm and dragged her tiny body up so that her feet were dangling as he looked into her eyes. Her skin was hot and clammy in his powerful hand and her trembling was so persistent that it nearly rocked him. He flung her hard towards the doorway where she fell into the frame and blurted a long and pained sob until two of her friends helped her back to her feet and guided her out of the theatre. The guard at the door looked from the shivering wreck of a girl to the tall and powerful Erik.

Erik glanced back at him.

'Yes?' he said, staring at the guard. 'Is there something you want to say to me?'

The guard tipped his cap. 'No, sir,' he said as he walked away.

The guard knew Erik's temper well.

* * *

Antoinette walked in silently and chose the seat in the corner of the room, out of the sunlight. Erik, who was sitting behind his desk, forced a smile at her.

The office had tall walls, making a high ceiling, causing the room to be spacey yet imposing. When a person walked in they felt immediately intimidated by the sheer vastness of the room before they even spoke to Erik and, of course, this had been his intention.

By the time they got to Erik, which, though to the room was big, was not over a great distance, they had noted the long and wide windows draped with deep red curtains made of soft velvet.

The colour was blood deep.

They had had to close the door behind them which, despite all attempts to the contrary, closed with a click that echoed around room. Anyone who had the pleasure (or displeasure) of entering that office would notice the glaring lack of furniture, an office that contained only one desk, three chairs and a bookcase could feel more intruding for it's presence than something so full it was cluttered.

The cleanliness of the room, whiteness of the walls, its emptiness and silence meant that its owner was not a mere man. A mere man would have an office full of work, of function, packed with papers and books and pens and drinks and cabinets, lots of things scattered around. So, therefore, it was obvious to anyone that whoever used this office was not a mere man.

Was not a normal man.

And for most people that thought was a sobering one.

'The ballet...' Erik said, snapping Antoinette from her daydream.

'What ballet, Erik?' she asked. 'You sacked them all.'

He leaned back in his seat. 'Not all,'

'Most.' she said, but she wasn't angry, she knew that he was as right as he usually was.

'What shall we do?' he asked.

'I'm not sure,' she replied honestly and with a shrug.

'How do we teach them to be better in such as short period of time,' he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the mahogany desk and his chin in his hands. Antoinette watched him as an emotion she rarely witnessed in him, covered his face.

He was anxious.

'I try,' she said softly. 'But I've been feeling so weak recently.'

He looked up from the desk to her face, noted the creases of her skin and the paleness in her eyes.

'I must be getting old,' she murmured. 'My body doesn't function the way it used to.'

Erik frowned. 'You are barely past fifty,' he said. 'For a woman of your stature that is no age at all.'

'But I feel it, Erik,' she said and felt a sigh escape her lips. 'I don't often complain.'

'You never complain,' Erik interrupted. 'Ever... so perhaps there's something you aren't telling me.'

She smiled at him. 'You know me too well,' she said.

'What is it?' he asked, tilting his head to look at her.

'I feel weak, tired...' she said quietly. 'So tired...'

Erik stood and walked across the room before kneeling at her feet and taking her hands in his. 'Are you ill?' He asked, although inside he knew that she was.

Her eyes drifted over the shining white of his mask, and his strong jaw, while her mind drifted to their past. She remembered all about him, Erik the boy and then Erik the man, who was always so beautiful to her. Her friend and companion for so many years and through so many toils. She loved him as her friend and sometimes, in their history, they had been more.

He touched her face, and she closed her eyes, his hands were unusually warm. 'Antoinette, you need to rest.'

'I am arranging your opera, Erik,' she laughed. 'I don't have time.'

'Then I'll fire you,' he said simply. 'You _will_ rest.'

'You, Erik, have done far too much of that today and besides… firing me will do nothing but depress me,' she aid, showing him a smile. 'The job makes me happy, you know it does, but it takes me longer to teach them when I can't show them,'

Erik thought for a moment and then nodded. 'Then the answer is simple.'

Antoinette lifted her eyebrows as Erik stood and glanced out of the window. From the window in Erik's office, high in the building, they could see the royal palace.

'Then what's the answer?' she asked pushing herself carefully to her feet. She stood by him and he slipped his arm around her waist with a tenderness few people knew he possessed.

'Meg will teach them, with your supervision... for a slight increase in her wage,' he said simply and Antoinette looked at him. He noted the concern in her eyes. 'Don't you think she can?' he asked.

'She's perfectly capable,'

He nodded. 'You taught her well,'

'Since when have you been charming?' she said, nudging him with her hip.

He turned to face her. 'Since forever,' he said and kissed her cheek softly.

'Meg will do it through fear of you, Erik,' Antoinette said with a knowing smile.

'Then perhaps we should have a meeting, she has no reason to be afraid of me,'

Antoinette laughed. 'No, let her do it without meeting with you, she will get to know you I'm sure. It will teach her well not to listen to idle gossip when she is out... she did far too much of that when she was young.'

'She did well to avoid me these years,' he said, a smirk crossing his lips. 'Even when I lived with you she seemed to vanish.'

'Ahh,' Antoinette said, smiling broadly. 'Perhaps she did learn some things from you after all.'

* * *

'Where is she?' Erik asked as he wandered out onto the stage for the second time that day. 'This is her rehearsal time... _where_ is she?'

'Where is who, sir?' the manager asked.

'Rachael... La Diva...where is she?' he repeated, staring at Robert Gray, who was wringing his small hands in nervousness.

'I...' he murmured. 'She isn't here.'

'Why not?' Erik demanded as he heard the click of the door behind the stage. La Diva's appearance was not before time.

'I'm running late,' she said, smiling at Erik as she swanned through and stood centre stage.

'An hour late,' he said staring at her.

'I'm sorry,' she said with the sincerity of a rat.

Erik looked at her beautiful face, so soft and delicate, her eyes were a gentle hazel, her lips were plump and pink and her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders. Such a contract to her deceptive and manipulative character, he thought, as she walked towards him, fluttering her eyelashes.

'Sing,' he said and took a seat at the side of the stage.

'I'm not ready,' she said simply and turned her back on him.

'You better be,' his voice was so low and cool that she stopped and turned slowly to look at him. 'Now, _sing_.'

She slid her coat off her arms and threw it at the conductor, who ducked it and rolled his eyes in Erik's direction, it was enough to cause a small smile to appear on his face. The conductor, a man who had worked once in the Opera Populair, was called Thomas Sumner, he was English and very talented and if Erik was honest, he was a likeable and funny man.

She opened her mouth and began to sing, sending cold chills along Erik's spine. Today was not a good day he thought as he scowled, resisting the urge to cover his ears with his hands.

'Stop,' he demanded and Rachael smiled at him. 'That was terrible,'

Rachael frowned, momentarily thrown. 'It wasn't.'

'Believe me,' he said. 'It _was_. Have you even practiced since last week... have you made any attempt at all?'

'Mister Valesk,' she said, with a well formed pout. 'I have a sore throat.'

'No excuse,' he said simply, clenching his teeth together.

'I'm sorry,'

'Of course,' he said and rolled his eyes. 'Just... rehearse.'

Erik stormed out of the theatre and onto the sun lit street in the centre of London. The day had remained frosty and January was proving to be a colder month than he had expected, still, he managed to enjoy the weather. He needed no heat to function; the cold was good enough for him. He pulled the collar of his long, thick jacket up around his face, feeling its prickly texture on one cheek and nothing but the mask on his other. He moved, bracing himself against the cold, and tucked his hands into his pockets.

Was a month long enough to get Rachael up to the standard she needed to be, the standard he expected of people? It certainly wasn't long enough to train someone else. He had no choice but to keep her there, in the position she was in and try to coax her into trying a bit... or a lot... harder. Inside his blood was bubbling, he was furious. It was the last time he left the casting of the show to the managers, and though the managers he had hired were experienced he knew that he should have learned from his days at the Opera Populair.

He remembered those days with fondness but sometimes he regretted almost every moment, it made him simmer inside at the thought of what the opera could have been, what _he _could have made of it. He had the opportunity… he had blown that opportunity away. He closed his eyes.

It seemed a hundred years ago.


	16. New Job

**A/N: Thank you all for the reviews, I will reply to them over the next few days. This chapter is basically unedited and a bit choppy because it was written at work. I hope you enjoy, read and review.**

**Chapter 16- New Job.**

'So this is the living area, where we spend most evenings... though my husband tends to like his own company a lot of the time,' Fiona smiled at the new maid. 'You probably won't see much of him... sometimes I even think he's a ghost.'

Fiona swept into the kitchen, passing through it quickly, into the dining area where a large mahogany table took centre stage, imposing its features on the already beautiful room. The sun shone gently through the large window and cast long shadows over the floor and over Fiona. She smiled at the girl, who was looking around, though it surprised Fiona that the look on the girls face was not awe, it was simply curiosity.

'Anyway,' Fiona continued, bustling along, the maid actually looked a little bit  
frightened, despite Fiona's efforts to put her at ease. 'The dining area is where we take all of our meals, my husband joins myself and his son for most meals, though being as busy as he is he does miss a few.'

With a nod the maid ran her finger along the edge of the mantel, picking up dust on its tip.

Fiona smiled. 'Perhaps you can keep the other maids inline, since our last head maid left they have been slightly... lacklustre.'

Before she received an answer Fiona was moving through the house again, she guided the maid up the stairs and began to point out different rooms, rooms that would need kept in order and, more importantly, one that wouldn't.

'That,' she pointed to the end of the long corridor. 'Is my husbands room... he uses it to work and prefers to keep it in order himself.'

The maid nodded in understanding.

'Good, good,' Fiona said and briskly moved along the hall, closely followed by the tired looking maid. Fiona pointed to the end of the corridor as they arrived at the base of the stairs. 'That room is the family music room, my son loves his time in there... personally, I'm not a very good musician but apparently it runs in my husband's blood.'

She spoke with a smile and as she smiled so did the maid, whose eyes sparkled at the prospect of a family music room.

'Now,' Fiona continued, walking through the corridor towards the door at the rear of the house. 'The butler, James, is in charge of everything that happens with the employees in this home... however, he rarely interferes with the cleaning and cooking duties, that will be up to you. If you do happen to have any problems please feel free to talk to him about it, he is a lovely man and will be happy to help you.' She moved the handle and pushed the back door open, stepping out quickly into the large and beautiful garden. Ahead of them was a set of stables and to the side a much smaller but lovely looking cottage.

Fiona walked towards it. 'This is the staff quarters, go ahead...' she smiled. 'Go inside... there's no one there at the moment they're all busying themselves around the house and with shopping.'

The maid walked in and was clearly shocked by what she saw, as her eyes opened and her mouth gaped slightly. The home was magnificent. It was decorated inexpensively but still looked homely and comfortable, there was a warmth that radiated through the room from a very low fire allowed to burn while the servants were around. Fiona walked in behind her and then headed to the door at the right corner of the room. She opened it and stepped inside, sweeping her arm around to show off the room. It wasn't a big room but it was adequate by anyone's standards, complete with a wardrobe which contained several uniforms and new shoes. The bed looked soft and warm and the moment the maid looked at the dresser Fiona could tell that she thought that she was in the wrong room.

'This is your room,' she said. 'If you need anything to make it more appropriate you only need to ask, we believe in this house that just because you're employed by us it doesn't mean that we own you... therefore, as long as you do your job, this room is yours and yours only. There is a key to the door and you will not be intruded upon unless completely necessary. In your own time you can do your own thing, you may spend your wage as you wish and food is supplied by us.' Fiona smiled as she stepped out of the room. 'Occasionally, we invite our staff to join us in the music room so that they have the opportunity to learn and to do something that they would otherwise be unable to afford.'

The girl's eyes were wide with anticipation and the look on her face made Fiona feel a strange warm in her chest.

'Do you have any questions for me before I leave you to get settled?' Fiona asked and the girl quickly shook her head. 'Good, then report to the kitchen at five this evening to learn about our kitchen and meet the cook, until then the day is yours.'

Fiona dug her hand into her pocket. 'Here are your keys... the large one is to the front door of the main house to be used in case of emergency... this one,' she held one aloft. 'Is for the back door where you may come and go as you please, the silver one is to the front door of this cottage and this little one is to your room.'

The girl nodded in understanding.

'Finally,' Fiona added another large key to the ring. 'This is the skeleton key to all of the internal doors in the house except for my husbands.' When it was obvious the maid had taken in all of this information Fiona turned and began to walk away. 'I will leave you to get settled. No doubt I will see you tonight, don't be late, cook is expecting you,'

* * *

Erik opened the large front door and let it slam shut behind him, sending a long echo through the entrance hall of his home. Fiona stepped from the living room and stared at him as he began to skulk up the staircase.

'What's wrong?' she asked, looking up at him. Erik glanced at her and frowned.

'Imbeciles,' he said simply and continued to walk up the stairs, his temper had not ceased since he left the theatre and something was eating at his stomach.

'Who?' Fiona asked, without moving.

'Mangers... singers... chorus...' he raged, containing up the stairs onto the landing.

Fiona angled her body so that she could still look at him. 'What happened?'

'Useless,' he said simply, his voice beginning to level to a normal tone. His temper was still a fierce burning coursing through his veins. He still had no idea how they were going to get the show to the standard it needed to be before the end of the month. He placed his hands on the banister and looked down at his wife, he could see the sharpness of her green eyes even from this height. 'They're all useless... my diva can't sing, my chorus can't dance and my managers wouldn't know talent if it hit them in the face.'

Fiona gave him a sympathetic smile which, oddly, soothed him briefly.

'I'm not sure what to do about it,' he said. 'I need to go and think.'

'Hmm,' Fiona said, nodding. 'Dinner is at six.'

'Fiona,' he called as he walked away. 'Where's Joshua?'

'At a friends,' she shouted back. 'He will be home for dinner.'

* * *

As Erik wandered down the corridor to his office, with his heart thudding through anger, he could hear one of the maids singing quietly as she cleaned one of the bedrooms. Erik winced at the sound of her voice shrieking through his ears and thought about the opera and Rachael. It made him angrier, despite every attempt to find the good in her voice he could not. Once, she had been a wonderful singer, had a marvellous voice, he knew how famous she was and that, as Carlotta had been, she was a big draw to the crowds but just like Carlotta she had allowed the fame to go straight to her head and now her arrogance damaged her brilliance. He saw no way of talking her around except to fire her and to fire her would be to put his show in complete jeopardy rather than the teetering jeopardy it was in now.

He shook his head as he inserted the key into the door and pushed it open slowly. The shrieking continued. He hated it when the staff sang.

'Sir,'

Erik turned to look at their butler, who was standing behind him, his broad shoulders filling the slim corridor. 'Yes, James?'

'Will you be needing me to check in on you in case you need anything?' he asked.

'No,' Erik said. 'But come up at ten to six and remind me of dinner'

'Certainly, sir,' James said and turned, leaving Erik to his own devices.

He clicked the door closed behind him and saw at the desk in the corner of the room. Leaning back in the chair and looked out through the window at the garden, the sun beamed down and the sky was clear blue but Erik knew that it was cold outside. He closed his eyes, wishing it was night, wishing he had his privacy back, his old him, his reluctant, but now longed for, solitude. Fiona was wonderful as a wife if it were a wife that you wanted, but for Erik, this wasn't really the case. She had often proved a useful asset but it changed nothing, he still wished to be alone much of the time and this included away from Joshua, although he had come to love the boy.

He opened his eyes slowly and sat up, reaching for his violin and then gently tucking it to his chin. He ran the bow gently across the string, making a soft almost inaudible sound. The he pushed the bough back, turning the sounds to notes and the notes to a piece of music.

For the time being he would forget the opera, even for a moment, and lose himself in music.

* * *

Erik was woken abruptly some hours later, but not by James's knocking at his door, rather by a maid singing outside, probably under his window. For a moment he was confused, as his groggy head began to stir and he looked around him. His violin was on the floor next to the chair and he bent over to pick it up and check that it wasn't damaged when he dropped it. It was odd for him to fall asleep like that, he really didn't remember being at all tired and generally he needed very little sleep anyway. He placed the instrument carefully into it's case and eased himself from his chair, stretching his arms out in front of him to attempt to wake himself up.

His eyes drifted sideways to focus on the clock resting at the back of his large desk, it read that it was almost five thirty. As he walked to the door he considered, once more, the prospect of being unable to put on his show due to the dancers but something in his stomach felt better... and at the same time worse... about his diva.


	17. My Son

**AN: Next chapter already written, will post when more time. Thank you all for reviews, please read and review this. Mostly enjoy… xx**

**Chapter 17- My Son.**

The food sat in the centre of the table and was steaming as Erik walked through into the dining area. Joshua leapt from his seat and into Erik's arms, greeting him as if he had been gone for days. Erik responded by lifting him from the floor and holding him tight though he rarely kissed his cheek. Joshua had no such reservations, Erik thought, as the boys lips landed on his temple.

'Hi, papa,' he said as Erik gently placed his feet back on the floor. He looked up at him. 'Are you… is there something wrong?'

Erik smiled and ruffled his hair. 'I'm a little tired.'

Joshua looked saddened by this and Erik shrugged his shoulders and broadened his smile to prove to him that he really was just fine. Erik knew how intelligent Joshua was, having spent hours alone, reading with him and teaching him… listening to him and watching him. Joshua was perceptive, more perceptive than he was sometimes given credit for and got away with a lot because of it. Despite this Joshua seemed pacified and jumped quickly back to his seat and began to pile potatoes onto his plate.

'Joshua,' Fiona said firmly. 'You could wait for your father to sit down,'

'Sorry, Fiona,' he said, genuinely, and placed his fork back on the table. Erik smiled as he took his seat, the _family_ didn't pray before dinner because Erik wasn't religious in the slightest and therefore neither was Joshua. Fiona, however, was religious in her own right and prayed alone of an evening it was an arrangement Erik had become satisfied with and one Fiona could tolerate.

He knew that Fiona wanted to know more about him, about his history, his family and where he came from. In the years they had been together conversations about his past had been minimal and when they occurred they were short. He told her as much as he was willing to, enough to placate her and yet not nearly enough to give him away.

She had still not seen his face, though they had shared a marital bed often. Since the day of the house viewing all of those years ago she had not once attempted to remove his mask though Erik's observant nature had witnessed the longing to in her eyes, in many people's eyes. He looked at his wife and then around the table, finally resting his eyes on the shape of Joshua between them.

'Thank you,' he said, still looking at Joshua. 'I read your essay, Joshua,' Erik said, smiling. 'I was very impressed, you really have taken in everything I've said...it's very good.'

Joshua beamed at the compliment. 'Are we having a lesson this evening?' he asked.

Erik shook his head causing a slight frown to crease Joshua's soft skin.

'Tomorrow morning if you like,' Erik said. 'I need to rest tonight... we shall look at Vikings if you wish… now, quickly get some dinner before it goes cold!'

Joshua grinned and began to dig into the food, taking large slices of beef, which to Erik smelled utterly delectable, and chunks of carrot. The gravy was thick and dark in colour, the whole thing smelled wonderful and Erik, for the first time that day, actually felt hungry. The plates were passed around and Fiona took her share leaving Erik the remainder, which was more than enough.

To someone else's eyes this would have looked like the perfect family setting.

* * *

After dinner Erik had taken comfort alone in the magnificent library, reading and relaxing on his own. He glanced at the clock, noting that the time was nearly eight in the evening before he dropped his eyes back down to his book and continued to read. This was one of the rare times that he read fiction and frankly, he was enjoying this play immensely. One of William Shakespeare. He was just settling into the story and letting his eyes graze the page when he heard Joshua shouting from the dining area.

Erik leapt from his seat and moved quickly, without running, into the hallway between the library and the dining room as he reached the door he heard Joshua again.

'Papa!' he shouted and Erik ran in through the door to see Joshua backing towards him and the door slamming to the kitchen.

'Josh, what's wrong?' he asked, grabbing the boy by his shoulders. He was clearly shaken with tears streaming along his cheeks.

'That woman...' he said. 'I don't know her.'

'Who?' Erik asked, frowning. Joshua shrugged, looking shocked. 'Where is she now?'

'In the kitchen...'

Erik darted away from Joshua and pushed the doors open to the kitchen just as the door to the garden closed. Picking up his pace he ran across the kitchen and threw the rear door open, in time to see the back of a maid's head vanish into the staff quarters. He followed, bursting in through the door, to the surprise of the staff.

'Sir?' asked one of the maids, who was sitting close to the fire warming her hands.

'What on earths wrong, Monsieur Valesk? James asked, standing and walking towards him.

'Who just came in here?' he demanded and the staff stared at him.

'What do you mean sir?' James asked calmly, his face a picture of concern.

'A woman,' he said. 'A woman just came in here... where is she?'

'That's the new maid,' he said. 'Has she done something wrong?'

'I need to speak with her,' he said. 'Immediately, I'm going to go outside and check on my son. I want you to send her directly out to me.'

'Certainly, Sir,' James said and nodded. 'Jessica,' he called but he didn't need to say more, Jessica rose to her feet and walked to the corner of the room where she knocked gently on the door as Erik walked back outside.

Erik stood outside the door, composing himself and cooling his temper, his head was pounding hard and his temples ached. Standing before him was Joshua, slightly tearful but otherwise in one piece. Erik stepped from the door and crouched down to pull his son into a gentle hug.

'Come on,' he said, looking at Joshua's blue eyes glimmering through his tears. 'Let's go back inside and get you warmed up.'

As he held Joshua and wandered towards the kitchen door he hear a voice call out from behind him. The voice that came was hardened and female but certainly recognisable.

It shook him to the core and his blood ran cold.

'He's my son, what is he doing here?'

Erik closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly. Without saying a word he lifted Joshua from the ground and walked briskly into the house through the door, closely followed by the maid.

'He is my son!' she yelled, following him through the back door and into the kitchen, Erik continued to move, holding Joshua to his chest, feeling fear for the first time in his adult life. 'What is he doing here! Sir!'

Erik resisted the urge to turn around, how could he, instead he continued to move away quickly, his paces were long and she struggled to keep up.

'Please...'

'What on earth is going on?' Fiona scolded as she walked in from the living area. She stared at the maid but by this point Erik had vanished up the stairs and out of sight. 'What is all of the shouting about?'

'I'm sorry, ma'am,'

'You should be,' Fiona scowled. 'Come along, calm yourself... you look dreadfully pale.'

'I thought I saw someone I knew,'

'Ahh,' Fiona said, placing a hand on the girls arm gently. 'Sometimes our mind can play tricks on us that way.'

The maid merely nodded her head and turned to walk away leaving Fiona staring at her back in confusion.


	18. Deep Seeded Emotion

**A/N: Read, review, enjoy. Two chapters posted.**

**Chapter 18- Deep Seeded Emotion.**

Erik dropped Joshua onto the bed and stared down at him, his blue eyes were glowing with the sheen of tears and Erik's hand reached out and stroked his hair.

'Papa,' he whispered. 'I don't understand… what's happening… Who was that woman?'

Erik shrugged and sat on the bed next to his, glancing sideways and showing Joshua a sad smile. 'I'm not sure, our new maid I think, I will speak with her later, Joshua, I will find out what she was thinking,' He paused, catching his breath. 'Now, are you alright?'

Joshua nodded and used his sleeve to wipe his eyes and nose. Erik cringed inside but said nothing.

'Why don't you get your violin and practice?' Erik suggested, keeping his tone as calm as he could, though in his chest his heart was thudding wildly. 'I'll come in to see how you're doing later.'

Joshua stared at the man he thought was his father for a moment before breaking into a smile, jumping from the bed and running from the room.  
'See you later then,' he called back and Erik listened as the sound of his footsteps became quieter and finally disappeared.

When he was sure Joshua was gone he gently clicked the door shut and turned  
to rest his back against it, the more he thought of her voice the further down the door he slid, until eventually he was sitting on the floor, head leaning back against the cold wood and knees tucked up to his chest. Oh _God_...

There was no doubt that it was Christine, the essence of her voice had not changed and she obviously recognised her child. He brought his hands up to his face and buried himself in them, wishing the cold would take him away. What was she doing in his house? He had been so convinced, so sure that she was killed when he hadn't heard from her, he had been positive. His mind reeled back to her voice, so hard and edgy but still, there was no mistaking it, it was her. He rubbed his eyes with his fingertips, his mind flashed back to the moment he heard her and everything in him wanted to talk to her but he knew that she hadn't recognised him and he knew that the moment she heard his voice- saw his mask- she would know and then his world would crumble.

What a cruel twist of fate it was that she would appear once more in his life, how wicked to make her recognise her boy but not the back of him...his heart thumped... the life he had built was only as strong as his past, his weakest link and the moment that came back it was all over. For a moment Erik considered the implications and in that moment thought that going back to his solitude would not be such a bad thing but he was wrong... it _would_ be a bad thing. It would be a terrible thing. He had his solitude here when he needed it and he had a family when he didn't.

Outside the room the floorboards creaked softly with the sound of Fiona's light movements.

_Fiona._

What would he say to Fiona, how would he explain this? He loved her not, but still, he cared and frankly, she held a lot in her hands, a lot of his life and reputation. It would all end. The material things did not matter at all to Erik, the money and the comforts come and go and so long as he had his mind he would have all he needed. It was the lifestyle, regardless of the commodities, the company when he wanted it and the recognition publicly of his many pieces of work. He also had affection from Fiona, an affection that once he had never dreamed of and now came so easily to him and though his own company was all he needed sometimes he _wanted_ to be with others. It was something he had never dreamed he was feel in the days when he was alone in the cellars of the opera house.

Of course, he no longer loved Christine, it was absurd to think that after so many years an unrequited affection could ever be held on to but the thought that she might cause the collapse of his world worried him greatly. In a way he resented her being there. He had a few options, of course, he never whirled himself into a panic. One option was that he spoke to Christine and explained the situation in a hope that she might be able to help him in return for some... _something._ Another option was to arrange for Fiona to fire her, though Antoinette was right, he had been doing too much of that recently.

Then it struck him, not the answer but the reality of what was happening around him. It was like lightening to his heart.

Christine was a maid.

She was _his_ maid.

And then he wondered what she looked like now, had her pale skin weathered over the years? Did she look older or was she still youthful? How was he supposed to look her in the eye and tell her that he had told her son that she had died. Joshua believed that she was dead and that he would never have the opportunity to meet her.

He pinched the top of his nose with his fingertips and squeezed his eyes shut again.

'Erik?'

He lifted his head from the door. 'I'm in here,' he said, pushing himself slowly to his feet.

Fiona walked in and closed the door behind them, glancing up at Erik's shadow across the wide window. 'Are you okay?' she asked and stepped towards him, slipping her arms around his waist. He let her kiss his cheek.

'I'm fine,' he said and moved away from her slowly.

'Were you downstairs earlier?' she asked, looking at his eyes.

'Yes,' he replied simply and turned towards the door. He saw no point in lying about this.

'Did you see the new maid?' she asked and followed him.

'No,' he lied, his heart seemingly clenching. 'Why?'

'She was upset, I just wondered if you had seen her and knew why,' Fiona replied with a shrug.

'I see,' he said simply. 'Actually, Fiona...' he paused, thinking for a moment. Thinking of his options. 'Would you... send her to me in ten minutes,' he shrugged. 'I'd quite like to meet her.'

'Are you sure?' she asked, obviously confused, and was answered with a curt nod. 'To your office?'

'Yes,' he said quickly and then added, for good measure. 'Please,'

* * *

Christine was shaking as Fiona Valesk walked towards her in the hallway as she cleaned the silverware on top of the tall cabinet. She hadn't stopped shaking since she had seen, or thought she had seen, Joshua. The room glowed orange from the fire in the lounge, and as Fiona walked closer Christine got the sickening feeling that she was about to be thrown out on only the first day with the household. She could hardly believe she had made such a fool of herself.

'Chrissy,' Fiona said as she glanced up at the girl. 'How are you feeling now?'

Christine noticed the distinct lack of anger or sarcasm in her tone and immediately her body relaxed. Her new boss struck her as such a genuine person she knew that her concern was an honest concern. Christine forced a smile.

'I'm fine, thank you, ma'am,' She continued to polish.

'You realise that you don't have to work this late tonight?' Fiona said, looking up at her. 'Anyway, my husband wishes to see you,' she said and smiled.

Christine once again felt the overwhelming sensation of dread reach her stomach. It had been the father who had come to his sons... no _her_ sons... rescue earlier and so she knew that he had the full story, after all she had chased him through his own house.

Perhaps she would be told to leave after all.

Suddenly her mind flashed to Erik and her heart sank back into her chest. He had given her child away. He had betrayed her. She wandered in a heart broken daze up the stairs and onto the landing where, for the first time in years, a tear slid along her cheek and dripped onto her shoulder. Walking slowly she lifted her hand to wipe away the residue from her face and run her finger under her eye. Now was not a time to show the weakness that had made her leave Joshua in the first place but still the heartache was there. Although it was obvious that Joshua had a good life, with a good family and that Erik hadn't merely dumped him, it didn't wash away the feeling of hurt.

How could he?

She stepped up to the door at the end of the corridor, the one she had been told Monsieur Valesk used for his private work, the one she was warned never to enter and knocked softly on the wood. It seemed to echo around her loudly as if the walls were pushing in against her. She listened for an answer and when none came she knocked again, more firmly.


	19. Phantoms Lair

**(1) Wishing you were somehow here again- Phantom of the Opera. I don't own it, very much wish that I did.**

**Chapter 19- Phantom's Lair.**

Still no answer.

She thought for a moment before taking a deep breath and circling the cold handle with her hand, as she pushed, the door gave way and creaked slowly open, revealing a dark room. She stepped inside gingerly, trying to look around but aside from the light behind her in the hallway there was none coming into the room.

'Hello?' she said quietly, her heart thudded. She heard a sigh from across the room and took a step forward. 'Sir?' the word was caught in her throat and when it finally escaped it sounded weak.

'Sing,' the voice was quiet and her ears only just caught it.

'I'm sorry?' she asked, moving around to try to look at the man in the chair.

'I said,' Still he was quiet, she had to strain to listen to him. 'Sing.'

'Sir,' she said softly, apologetically. 'I'm... I'm sorry, I thought I heard you say... sing.'

'I did,' still too quiet.

'Er...' she murmured. 'What shall I sing?' she stepped closer to the chair, the darkness hugged her body and seemed to suffocate her as she tried to get closer. 'Is this why you wanted to see me?'

'Yes,' he said simply but the voice was still almost silent.

'Then what shall I sing?' she asked, somehow gaining confidence as she stood  
in the darkness. She saw the back of his shoulders move as he shrugged in answer to her question.

'Sing,' he repeated, more quietly.

Christine stood in silence thinking and then her heart gave in and, as if she had never stopped, she opened her mouth and sang the first song that came to her mind_. 'Wishing you were somehow here again, wishing you were somehow near, sometimes it seems_,' the words were hazy but slowly they were creeping back _'If I just dream, somehow you would be here, wishing I could hear your voice again, knowing that I never would, dreaming of you won't help me to do all that you dreamed I could**…**_**(1)'**

'Christine...' this time his voice was clear. It was deep yet soft and filled her ears with hope and dread at the same time. The words of the song died in her throat as she felt her knees buckle beneath her. She felt weak as she dropped to the floor but somehow she was still conscious, kneeling and faint, but conscious. On her knees, there in the now overpowering darkness, trying to catch her breath, she felt the tears build up in her eyes and an overwhelming sensation that everything was a dream washed over her body. She knew, though, that it wasn't.

The toughness, the sheer courage, that she had built up over the last seven years seemed to be falling down around her, her facade was crumbling and with it, her resolve. It took a moment to realise it but she was trembling, shaking violently. She listened to the creak of the chair as Erik stood from it and she let her eyes drift up to where she thought he would be standing.

And there he was.

He was, oddly, taller than she remembered, broader, his mask seemed whiter, his hair was darker... was he really _so_ different?

'You were off pitch,' he said simply with no effort to move towards her. Her head was spinning. She opened her mouth to speak but the words just sank in to the depth of her heart. 'Get up.'

Christine looked up at him through shimmering tears.

'Christine,' he said firmly.

'I...' she gasped. 'Can't...'

'Of course you can,' his voice was even.

Christine placed her hands on the floor and tried to push herself up but instead she fell forward so that she was lying at his feet. How could she feel so useless... after all she had been through how could _this_ make her feel so weak?

'Stand, Christine,' He was not making a request, he was giving her an order.

'Help me,' she said softly. 'I can get up if you help me.'

She could feel his eyes on her. She wanted to see his eyes. 'You don't need my help..' he said simply, keeping his distance.

She shook her head and tried again this time stumbling sideways in to the chair and then using its arm to pull herself completely to her feet. Her eyes fell to the floor, she stared at her shoes, afraid to look at him as if he was her teacher... she closed her eyes and her mind corrected itself.

As if he was _still_ her teacher.

What little light there was in the room moulded itself to the outline of Erik's body and created a shadow out of his imposing shape, even looking towards him as she somehow found the courage to do, she couldn't see him as anything but her master. The thought bounced in her mind and frightened her. Had this man, so cold and distant, ever really been her friend? Or had her mind, over the years, distorted her memory of him?

'Erik...' she whispered and she could almost feel him scowl.

'It's still poison on your lips,' he spat and Christine swallowed the lump in her throat. The tone of his voice had changed instantly and suddenly the softness she had heard in it earlier was just a vague memory.

'Where's Joshua?' she asked suddenly, eyes widening in the realisation that  
she was right... her son _was_ in this house and she wasn't losing her mind.

'He will be in his room,' Erik replied, staring at her. She felt the heat of his eyes on her skin.

'I want to see him,' she said, her tone becoming firmer.

He shook his head. 'Not possible,'

'He is mine,' she said, anger beginning to bubble in her body.

'He ceased being yours when you left him,' Erik said and moved towards the window.

'I had to...'

Erik turned fast and stared at her. 'No you didn't, you had a choice... I _gave_ you a choice.'

'They would have killed me,' she cried.

'It would have been better for Joshua that way,' Erik growled.

'Don't say that...' she gasped, her voice losing all of its conviction. One simple sentence, so heartbreaking.

'Why not?' Erik shrugged and stepped towards her. 'Why shouldn't you be made  
to face the consequences of your actions, Christine?'

She blinked a tear away. 'I was trying to protect him.'

'You were protecting yourself,'

'No,' she said. 'No, that's not true... it isn't.' She paused and took a deep breath. 'Why are you doing this?'

'What?'

'Treating me this way,' she replied, shifting her body in an attempt to see his face properly. 'We haven't see each other for years... I only asked to see Joshua.'

'It's hardly a reasonable request, Christine,' he snarled, shaking his head.

'Why not?' she asked quickly. 'I missed him... he's my son...'

'He thinks you're dead, Christine,'

She stood still, as did the world around her, and swallowed hard trying to stop the bile she felt burning in her body from rising into her throat. 'You told him...'

'That you were dead,' he said simply, he didn't seem to notice her anguish, if he had he didn't seem to care. 'He doesn't remember you and he deserved to be told something... I think that telling him you had died giving him life is a far more attractive story than the actual explanation that you abandoned him to a circus freak.'

'Erik...' she whispered and tried to step towards him, stubbing her toe on something hard and cold on the floor. She yelped in pain. 'Please... light a candle, you can't see in here.'

_'You_ can't see in here,' he sighed. 'I can see perfectly.'

'You can see me?' she asked, heart gathering some power. 'So you can see the mess that I'm in, you can see my filthy hair and my tattered clothes and you can see my tears... if you can see me Erik why are you being blind to how I look?'

She felt his eyes drift over her. His eyesight had always been tuned to the dark and Christine was well aware that he could see everything.

'You told my son that I am dead,' she repeated, to him, and to herself, trying to make the words sink in. 'Why?'

'I thought you were,' he said simply and something in his voice caused  
Christine's heart to stir. It could have been a twinge of regret or sadness,  
he had really thought that she was gone. So did I, thought Christine, so did I.

'Well, I'm not,' she said still trying to get her eyes to focus in the dark. 'So what are you going to do?'

'I'm not going to do anything,'

'Erik...' she protested and as she did Erik moved towards her his hand reached out and gripped her elbow.

'You can not walk away and then reappear and expect me to act as if nothing happened,' he growled, tightening his grasp on her arm. 'First, you lead me in to believing that you love me, then you leave me for ... for someone else, someone you... on many occasions... insisted you had no feelings for and **then**... as if you hadn't destroyed me enough you leave your child with me and vanish.'

Christine groaned in pain as the pressure of his fingertips increased on her elbow. He loosened his grip, it was a reaction Christine hadn't expected.

'And now,' he continued, letting go of her completely. 'Now, by some unnatural coincidence, after I have built my life up... after I have pulled myself together... you appear as my maid!' His anger was almost tangible in his voice as the air filled with his frustration.

'In fairness to me...' she said quietly. 'I never expected to be back, this wasn't deliberate. Do you think I like doing this?'

He was staring at her still, she couldn't see him properly, only the brightness of the mask but she knew he was staring. 'Then why do you?' he asked.

'It has kept me safe and now,' she said, taking a long deep breath. 'Now, if I don't do it then I have nowhere else to go.'

'Have you been doing it for... the whole time?' he asked, Christine could tell that he was softening. It wasn't much but it was there in his voice.

'Most of it,' she said, honestly. 'For the first year I just ran... I was homeless for a while.'

She saw the mask move and she knew he was nodding, though she was unsure of whether he was nodding to her or to himself. 'I want to see Joshua, Erik.'

'Impossible,' he said. 'You can't do that to him... he should not suffer for our failings.' She watched his shadow move towards the door. 'He won't understand, how can you expect an eight year old child to understand that his mother left him and the man he thinks is his father is not... and that, that man has been lying to him for seven years?'

Christine stared at his shape next to the door realising that he was right. She would never get to know her son, spend time with him and love him the way she wanted to. If she was honest with herself she had always harboured the hope that someday she would be in the position to find him and get him back so that he would be with her again. She hadn't realised when she was young what the love for your own child meant, when she had let him go she had understood. He was the foundation of her earth and she had thought about him nearly every minute of everyday, only giving way to tears for Raoul and heart ache for Erik.

And now, here she was, standing only footsteps away from him and he was telling her that she would never know her son like he was her son. His demeanour was cold and his attitude spoke volumes.

'I understand,' she said quietly, feeling the roughness of the lump in her throat. As Erik's hand gripped the handle he turned his head to her.

'I can help you,' Erik said, opening the door to the room less than an inch.

Christine frowned. 'How?'

'Can you learn an opera in three weeks?' he asked and she could, once again, feel his eyes on her face.

'You know I can,'

'You're out of practice,' he said bluntly.

'Yes,' she conceded, trying to keep the frown from her face. 'Erik... I don't...'

'Then listen,' he said, obviously knowing what she was about to say. 'You don't have to live like this anymore... for the time being you will continue to work for Michael during the week and for us of a weekend.' he clicked the door closed. 'I will train you in your free time, I will teach you the opera... you go on stage in four weeks.'

'I don't want to,' Christine said simply.

'You have to,'

'No, I don't,' she retorted.

'Then you're happy to live like this?' he asked, stepping towards her.

'I didn't say that,' she said. 'But I don't need the attention. I don't want people to see me.'

'It won't matter,' Erik said, losing patience rapidly. 'It's over Christine, no one wants you dead anymore, no one will know who you were.'

'And how does this benefit me? You said you could help me, how would putting me in the public eye help me?'

'You won't have to live like this anymore,'

'Like what?' she asked, sighing. 'Working hard?'

'You mean to say that being on stage isn't hard work?' he responded, she saw his shape shift to the left but he made no more progress towards her. Her heart was pounding in her chest.

'Let me check that I'm hearing you correctly,' she said, placing the palm of her hand on her forehead. 'I, by some natural disaster, end up as your maid... you berate me, insult me, tell me that my son doesn't know that I exist and that I can never let him know who I am.' she stared at his figure, straining, once more, to see his face. 'We haven't seen each other for years and now you want me to sing for you?'

'Yes,' he said quickly.

'No,' she replied. 'This is who I am now and if you don't mind, I'll get back to work.'

She heard Erik sigh. 'If that's what you want.' he said. 'But you can't stay here.'

'Why not?' she asked, trying hard to keep the panic from her voice. Stay calm, she thought, just stay calm.

'I can't have you around Joshua, I'm sorry,' he wasn't sorry at all, that much was obvious.

'Erik...'

'It isn't as if you'll be out of work,' he said, grabbing the handle to the door. 'You will still be working for the Bailey's.'

Christine suddenly felt a tightening in her throat as her whole body began to tense. She would still be able to be Michael Bailey's toy, is what this meant.

'I...'

'You, what?' Erik said. 'That is the life you chose even when given a better option.'

'And if I sing..?' she asked, her heart lurching towards her throat.

'If you sing,' he said, she knew he was thinking, and she could just see the outline of his hand resting on the door handle. 'Well, if you sing you will be able to create a better life for yourself, I'll pay you well and I will personally teach you.'

'But it doesn't change anything,' she said, her heart sinking.

She saw Erik's head tilt and she wondered if he was looking at her that way or if he had just dipped his head in exasperation.

'I mean,' she continued. 'I still can't tell Joshua who I am... I still  
can't be with my son.'

His shadow shrugged. 'Fine,'

'No,' she said. 'Wait.' she closed her eyes. 'I'll do it.'

'That's better,' he said.

'So, what happens now?' she asked, making a move to step towards him but he backed away.

'Now,' he said. 'You continue to work as a maid but I will train you evening and lunches.'

She frowned. 'Will I stay in Mr. Bailey's service?'

'Yes,' he said with a nod. 'But not for long, we will start your lessons tomorrow lunch, in here at midday.'

Christine knew that she had to.

'Christine,' he whispered as he opened the door slowly. 'How did you know it was Joshua?'

She smiled softly as a tear escaped her eye, rolling slowly along her cold cheek. 'I recognised his eyes.'


	20. New World

**Chapter 20- New World**

Christine's arm rested on the windowsill in her room as she gazed out over the long field of the garden which was bathing in the hard moonlight. She was dressed in her nightwear, a clean white dress that touched her toes when she stood, her hands were cold as ice and her tears were arriving in bursts. The cotton blanket was tucked around her body keeping her warm and she had her hands dug into the material, squeezing it as if it could pain her agony disappear. She knew, however, that nothing could make this pain disappear. To have found her son, to have found him alive, well, rich and intelligent was more than she could ever have hoped for. To find him and be unable to touch him was something she has not been prepared for.

Her eyes misted again.

She pictured Joshua in her mind, standing there in the dining room backing slowly away from her outreached hands, shouting for his father. Before that he had been walking through with papers in his hand and she had spotted him through the gap in the door to the kitchen. She had been unsure what to do but had eventually gone with her instinct to speak to him. His hair was so dark now, when once it had been light and Christine wondered if the British weather had darkened it as it had lightened his skin. He was taller than she had dreamed he would be, and for eight years old was broad and slim. What sports does he do, she thought, is he an athlete? She had so many questions whirling inside her mind that it made her feel dizzy.

As a cloud drifted across the moon she closed her eyes and moved away from the window to the other edge of the bed. A deep sigh escaped her and she placed her hand on her chest to try to steady her thudding heart.

His eyes were the same.

It was his eyes that she recognised, so blue, so soft yet so definite.

How could she ever forget those eyes? She had looked for them in every boy she had ever seen, every child running along the street, every boy playing at the schoolyard she walked past to shop for the Bailey's groceries. Today she had found them in her new home

He was beautiful.

And Erik... _married_. She felt the stab in her heart and wondered whether the pain was jealousy or whether it was simply sadness. He had married an attractive woman and now lived in a huge house... he was arranging an opera. Erik, _publicly_ arranging an opera, an official opera. She shook her head, surprised, bemused, hurt... Christine brushed the tear from her cheek and doubted the candle by the bedside as she curled herself into a ball, tangled in the blankets on her bed. Her breath shuddered hard in her throat as she fought a sob away and buried her face into the soft pillow.

She knew that tonight was going to be a sleepless one.

* * *

The air was cool but not freezing and Fiona was astounded at the change in temperature, particularly as she was so used to the nights getting colder. Her eyes drifted to the sky and noted the clouds moving over head, she knew that there was rain coming. There was a thick shawl draped around her shoulders as she sat out on the porch enjoying the best of the years weather so far, it did her sanity well to get out into the fresh air and away from the madness of her home.

She wanted her own children but knew that it was impossible, she and Erik had been married for years and had not produced even the inkling of a baby. It was perfectly obvious to her that she, or Erik, was unable to have children. Joshua was a good boy, he was clever and sweet, most of the time he was polite and attentive but he did not treat Fiona like a mother and she had no way to treat him like son. Erik had always made it clear that Joshua was not hers and that she was not his mother. He hadn't been cruel about it but the love he felt for his late wife was obviously radiated through his son and he could not bare the thought that anyone else could lay claim to him.

Still, she thought, she was not unhappy. Erik had his moments of affection and almost love and their conversations stretched beyond the monotony of London life. He was so well read, so intelligent and so talented that she wished that she knew everything in his mind. She wanted to know all that was in his head, wanted to learn from his experiences and develop her own with him. Erik amazed her, if he read a book once he could remember it almost word for and quote it back for her if she asked. She too had developed a love of books and listening to music, something that she would be forever indebted to her husband for.

But there was something about him. Something almost... _sinister_. Fiona was more than aware of his terrible temper and she knew that his mood swings were bad but this was more than that, it was something else. Sometimes, when she looked into his eyes, she saw something that she couldn't place, a history he wouldn't speak to her about. Almost a pain that he couldn't express. She knew that he had not had a good childhood, she knew that his father had died when he was young and that his mother had been neglectful and for a long time she thought that that might be the explanation.

Then she thought that it was his late wife, the love he had had for her was so powerful that her death had overwhelmed him and the grief simply wouldn't let go of his heart. She knew now that she was wrong, that wasn't it, but she didn't know what it was and Erik was hardly forthcoming with the answers.

Despite Erik's obvious anti social tendencies, society accepted them as the wonderful Valesk family, the beautiful wife, the dutiful son and the eccentric but gifted husband. Fiona accepted Erik as the troubled genius that he was and she loved him deeply for his mysteriousness. But in his eyes was a story for the world to see if only he would let them close enough to look.

He never let anyone quite close enough to _actually_ look.

* * *

Erik placed his hand gently onto his sleeping wife's shoulder, causing her to jump out of her slumber. 'Shh, shall we go into the warm?' he said softly, as he glanced down at her sleepy eyes.

'I think so,' she replied, placing her hand onto his and rubbing it softly. Erik watched as she stood slowly, stifling a yawn, and turned to face him, her eyes looked soft in the now muted moonlight and he stepped forward and scooped her up into his arms.

She smiled. 'My hero,'

'Something along those lines,' he said and carried her through the door into the hallway. As she glanced up her eyes met his and he leaned forward, placing his lips gently against hers. She responded by wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him deeply, he moved towards the stairs, carrying her carefully.

'Erik...' she said, pulling away from him.

'Mmm?' he said, walking up the stairs with her nestled in his arms.

'Are you... you know, is everything alright?'

He forced himself to smile at her. 'Yes,' he said. 'Why do you ask?'

'You've avoided me today,' she said softly, no anger existed in her tone.

'I haven't,' he said simply kissing her cheek as he made his way towards their bedroom. 'I've just had a bit of a long day.'

'I'm sorry,' she whispered, resting her lips on his cheek.

'It's fine,'

Erik placed her gently on to the bed and ran his hands along her sides, ending at her jaw where he cupped her face softly in his palms.

'You seem to be feeling better,' she teased, rubbing the heel of her foot against the back of his leg.

'I am,' he mumbled as he lowered his lips to her throat, feeling her gasp as the coldness of his mask touched the warmth of her skin. She had told him years ago that she had come to crave the sensation of the ceramic against her and Erik had taken this as a compliment.

He knew that Fiona was grinning. 'And... what has happened to make you feel like this?'

'I've found a new singer,' he said simply, letting his lips move to meet Fiona's.

'When?' she said, pulling away from him.

'This evening,' he smiled. 'The new maid.'

'She can sing?' Fiona asked, surprised.

Erik kissed Fiona's cheeks and lips, not wanting her to ask to many questions. 'Gifted.' he said simply, hoping she wouldn't pursue it, he had told her enough for her to be satisfied.

He wondered if he felt guilty about this, he certainly didn't feel anything at this moment, as he lay with his hands on Fiona's body, but he wondered if deep down it was there, the emotion he felt so rarely, waiting to rear itself.

'Good news,' Fiona exclaimed as she pressed her body to his. 'Its improved your temper anyway,'

Erik smiled against her skin, and let his hands slide along her body but all of the time he was touching her his mind drifted to Christine, to how she had changed and to how he was going to deal with the situation once she was herself again.


	21. Intime Ami

**A/N: Thank you all, please enjoy R&R.**

**Chapter 21- Intime Ami**

'Morning,' Erik said, a rare smile gracing his lips. Fiona rolled towards him and placed her lips carefully on his.

'Good morning,' she said, returning his smile as he slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her into the warmth of his body.

'I'm going to skip breakfast,' he said, kissing her forehead before pushing himself to the edge of the bed.

'Work?' she asked as she stretched her arms out above her head, letting out a groan of contentment.

'A little,' Erik stood as he shrugged and walked to the window, pushing the curtain aside with his finger. 'And I need to prepare Joshua's lesson.'

'Is the nanny not here today?'

Erik clicked his shoulder and he almost felt Fiona shudder at the sound. 'This afternoon, this morning Joshua is taking a history lesson... perhaps some literature.'

Erik watched as Fiona let her head drop back to the soft pillows and then she snuggled back into the warmth, pulling the blankets around her body. He smiled and walked to the bed, leaned over and kissed the tip of her nose. Sometimes Erik genuinely felt this kind of affection for Fiona, she was beautiful and warm, intelligent… and despite common misconceptions, Erik _was_ a red blooded male.

'Will you have James bring some toast up to me in my study?' Erik asked as he pulled his trousers up to his waist and began to buckle the belt.

'Of course,' Fiona smiled.

'And...'

'Make sure Joshua eats all of his breakfast,' she rolled her eyes and her smile widened to a grin. 'I know.'

Erik moved towards the door, buttoning his shirt as he walked. 'Have him practice his piano in the music hall and come up to me at around ten,'

Fiona nodded, and Erik realised she had reacted to his jovial demeanour dying away. He knew that she didn't mind that it was disappearing because she knew that it would return and it always worked out better for her simply to pretend not to notice his moods.

* * *

'Sir?' James said from the doorway to Erik Valesk's study, he could see into the room through the gap and he noted that it was dark, as always.

'Come in, James,'

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, carrying a plate with two slices of toast and a hard boiled egg.

'I didn't ask for an egg,' Monsieur Valesk said, as he took the plate from James' hands.

'Cook thought it might do you good to eat something with substance, Sir,' James said watching his master as he took a bite of the toast.

'I ate a full dinner last night,' he said, glancing up at the butler.

James smiled. 'Then an egg won't hurt you, will it?'

'I don't suppose it will,' Valesk conceded, taking another mouthful of the bread.

'Anything else, Sir?' James asked, backing away towards the door.

'Actually, James,' He said. 'There is.'

'Yes, Sir?'

Erik sighed. 'The new maid...' he paused and James caught something he hadn't seen before, shoot across his employers eyes, he wasn't positive _exactly_ what it was but he was sure he had seen something there, behind the blue.

'Chrissie?' James asked, prompting Monsieur Valesk to continue.

He nodded. 'How is she fitting in?'

'Very well sir, the other staff like her.'

'Hmm...'

'I don't know what she did yesterday,' James said quickly, remembering the way he had barged into the staff quarters the previous evening. He watched the expression on Valesk's face. 'But she's new and is really trying hard to fit in.'

'We dealt with that,' he said. 'Everything's fine.'

The maid was very quiet and yesterday evening after vanishing for an hour she returned and locked herself in her room. James nodded slowly. 'Yes, Sir.'

'I just wondered...' He ran his hand over his face. 'What do you think of her?'

'Personally, Sir?' James's asked, a little bemused by the line of questioning.

'Yes,' he was always so simple, never giving too much away with the tone of his voice.

'Honestly, sir, I haven't spoken to her too much,'

'But your opinion, James?' he asked again, this time more firmly.

James shrugged. 'I genuinely like her,'

'Really?' Monsieur Valesk asked.

'Absolutely,' James said. 'Though there is something about her I can't quite put my finger on.'

His boss glanced up at him, the well known intensity focused in his eyes and directed now, onto James' face.

'Well,' James stammered, Erik Valesk had this way of making even the highest of aristocracy nervous. 'She... if I'm totally honest, sir, she seems somewhat out of place.'

'How so?' Valesk asked, leaning back into his chair.

'She seems, sort of, _educated_, sir,' James said. 'And... so beautiful... I hope you don't think that I am speaking out of turn... it's just, the other maids are different, some are pretty...' he thought for a moment. 'Some aren't... but none are quite so beautiful.'

'She is beautiful...'

James stared, wide eyed at Erik Valesk, the tower and genius of a man instantly vanished with the words... _she is beautiful_... and James was, for the first time since he had worked in the Valesk household, astonished. Unsure of what to say he began to step away, he didn't know what the look on his Valesk's face was but he knew that it was something he had not witnessed before. James thought of the young Chrissie, a woman of uncountable intellect and beauty and he wondered what she was doing working as a maid when she was so obviously not a woman of those origins. James had seen enough to know. He was about to open the door when Erik Valesk spoke again.

'James,' he said, and James looked at him. 'Does she sing for you?'

James frowned, for a moment concerned that Monsieur Valesk was losing his mind but then he saw that look again. Was Monsieur Valesk in love with this girl? _Ludicrous_, he thought, absolutely ludicrous, he barely knew her.

Then what was it?

Perhaps Valesk did know her, perhaps she had worked for him before or maybe he knew her history but there was something there, written on his face, something about Chrissie...

'No,' James said quietly. 'She hasn't sung for us.'

'She seems so innocent,' Monsieur Valesk commented, as if realising his frame of mind and snapping out of it. 'Keep your eye on her, make sure that she is comfortable while she is here.'

'Certainly, sir,' James said, dipping his head as he finally walked out of the room and closed the door gently behind him.

When he turned around in the corridor and looked up he saw a familiar face ahead of him, rugged and weathered and opening his arms to James, with a grin on his face.

'Old friend!' came the voice from the end of the corridor and James broke into an uncharacteristic grin, forgetting his professionalism for that moment.

'Nadir,' James said as he got closer to the Persian's small, stocky frame. 'How are you?'

James felt Nadirs arms tighten around him and bear hug him, squeezing the air out of his body. As Nadir let go and held him at arms length, breath began to flow back into James' lungs and he patted Nadir's shoulder.

'I'm well,' Nadir said, smiling broadly, as he always did.

James had known Nadir for many years and it was Nadir who had recommended James' services to Erik and Fiona. It was the greatest thing that Nadir had ever done for him, the job was better than any he had had previously. James had never in his life been treated with as much dignity and respect that the Valesk family had given him, he had never been paid so much or lived in such luxury and the only conditions were that James did was he was asked, did not interfere with Erik Valesk's work and kept his mouth shut about the goings on in their home.

It was a small price to pay for the comfort he had been given in return for his discretion.

'How are you, James?' Nadir asked, fixing his dark eyes onto James's pale skin.

'I'm also keeping well,' James smiled. 'What brings you back so soon?'

Nadir's laugh came from the pit of his stomach. 'So soon?' he chuckled. 'I've been away for what seems like eternity!'

'It hasn't been that long,' James said, Nadir's laughter was becoming infectious.

'Hmm,' he grunted. 'Feels like it.'

James laughed and squeezed Nadir's shoulder.

'Where's his greatness?' Nadir said, flashing his teeth at James.

James returned the smile. 'He is in the study,'

'How is he today?' Nadir asked as he started to walk away from James.

'He's...' James thought for a moment. 'Strange...'

James let out a low chuckle as Nadir arched his eyebrows. 'We'll catch up.'

'Definitely,' James said as he walked away.

* * *

Nadir opened the door to the study without knocking, or being invited in, over the years he had decided that Erik's constant need for solitude was unforgivable and that he would not bow to those particular whims.

'Dargoa,' Erik said without turning to look at the door. It made Nadir smile that Erik knew no one else would have the audacity to walk into his private room unannounced. Nadir walked through, letting the door slam shut behind him and wandered over to the desk where Erik was sitting.

'Someone looks happy,' he said, smirking as he flung the curtains wide open, letting lashings of light into the room. He watched as Erik lifted his hand to cover his eyes.

'What did you do that for?' Erik asked, struggling to focus his eyes back to the light.

'It's so dull in here,' Nadir said simply. 'It will never help your mood having it so dark.'

Erik's eyes fixed onto Nadir and he scowled. 'I don't have a mood.'

'You do,' Nadir rolled his eyes. 'What's wrong?'

Nadir watched as Erik's chest rose and fell in a long sigh and he raised his hands to cover his face. Erik rubbed his eyes with his fingertips and leaned forward, keeping his face to his hands but balancing his elbows on his knees.

'Erik,' Nadir said. 'You don't look... good.'

Erik glanced up at him and shook his head slowly from side to side. 'It isn't good.'

'What isn't? Nadir asked, jumping up to sit on the edge of Erik's desk.

'I...' he murmured.

'What?'

Erik opened his mouth to speak but the knock at the door stopped him. 'Yes,' he boomed, glancing around the door.

'Papa?' Joshua's voice pierced the wood. Nadir watched as Erik turned back around to face him, with a shrug.

'Come on,' he said, calling the boy in.

Joshua's dark hair poked through the gap in the door, as the door widened Nadir caught sight of how tall the boy had become in the months Nadir had been working on the new theatre in the north. Joshua rested his piercing eyes on Nadir's face.

'You've grown,' Nadir said, smiling. Joshua beamed and ran towards him, leaping into his arms and Nadir squeezed him into a huge hug.

'I have grown,' Joshua declared proudly, puffing out his chest. Nadir could see Erik watching them from the corner of his eye.

'I've missed you,' Nadir said as he lowered the boy back to the floor and ruffled his hair playfully.

'Really? Joshua asked, smiling brightly.

'Of course,'

'Did you bring me a gift?'

Nadir rolled his eyes. 'You're just like your father,' he said.

'The difference being,' Erik interrupted, looking at Joshua, 'That he really does buy _you_ something,'

'Have you bought me something?' Joshua asked, diverting his eyes from Erik back to Nadir.

'Not exactly,' he said. 'I made no expense but I _brought_ you something back.'

'What is it?' Joshua asked, excitedly, his blue eyes gleaming in the morning sunlight which was beaming through the window. Nadir dug his hand into his jacket pocket, feeling the cold object, smooth under his fingertips and pulled it out, showing it nestling in the palm of his hand. It was an orange colour, rounded and mostly smooth.

'Is it a rock?' Joshua asked, staring at the item.

'More of a gem,' Nadir said holding the object up. The light pierced through it creating a small amber glow on the wall at the far side of the room, Nadir grinned as he watched Joshua's eyes open in awe. Nadir held the stone out and handed it to Joshua who passed it quickly from hand to hand, as if working out what it was and what it did.

Nadir knew how quizzical Joshua was, his mind had always seemed to work in the same way as Erik's, assessing, analysing, questioning everything until he understood it completely, and could recite it back to anyone who asked, _with_ a full explanation. It was the way they both were. An intelligence rivalled only by each other for as young as Joshua it was blatantly obvious that he was perceptive and, at a loss for a more suitable word as Nadir was, _gifted_.

'Where did you get it?' Joshua asked, settling his blue eyes back onto Nadir.

Nadir smiled. 'I found it under the foundations of your father's new opera house.'

'Really?' Joshua's tone was sceptical and Nadir met his gaze with a smile.

'Really,'

'There aren't many gems found in the earth in the centre of the country,' Joshua said, once again turning his attention to study the jewel. 'If you really found it...'

'I said I found it,' Nadir said, nudging Joshua with the palm of his hand. 'I never said that I dug it up,'

Joshua nodded in understanding. 'It's beautiful,' he said simply and placed it carefully a piece of paper at the edge of Erik's desk. Then he wrapped it delicately and placed it in his pocket.

'So, you like it?' Nadir asked, concerned that he should have bought the boy a wooden toy.

'I love it,' said Joshua, sincerely, and Nadir noted, not for the first time, that Joshua was a more affectionate and emotional child than he would ever have thought.

Nadir had often predicted that spending so much time with Erik would be enough to challenge the strongest man's resolve, yet Joshua seemed well balanced and genuine without the obvious hang ups of his guardian. Fiona's touch with him was evident, he was polite and quietly spoken but despite this there was no denying that Erik was in his actions at almost every moment. The boy had picked up Erik's mannerisms, from the way he could focus his eyes with the intensity of the smouldering sun to the way he could run his hands across the keys of a piano and make is sing like a bird. Joshua had also followed in Erik's less than social nature, though, like Erik, he could talk to people easily when it suited him, often it _didn't_ suit him at all. The only people Joshua wanted to be around were Erik and a handful of friends.

The comparisons were undeniable. Erik had loved his father when he was a boy and had never witnessed the love a mother could have. His own mother being ever so slightly crazy, Nadir mused He had also, throughout his life, kept only a small number of close friends, including Nadir and of course, Antoinette Giry.

'I'm glad you like it,' Nadir said as his mind came back to the present. 'I shall leave you two to it,'

Erik nodded.

'Will you be taking lunch downstairs, Erik?' Nadir asked.

'Not today,' Erik said quickly. 'I have a lot of work to do.'

'So will I see you at dinner?'

'Yes,' Erik nodded and that was all he said. Nadir took the hint, as he always did, planted a kiss in Joshua's dark hair and walked out into the corridor wondering why Erik seemed so off character.


	22. Sad Eyes

**A/N: Will reply to your reviews in good time, all of them are much appreciated.**

**I'm so excited to get through the next few chapters that I'm afraid I will rush them. So please excuse me if it seems I do… and if I'm not going fast enough… excuse me again… I don't want this to turn into a mess!**

**RR**

**Chapter 22- Sad Eyes**

Erik waited until the sound of Nadir's footsteps evaporated into nothing before he turned to his son and gave him the warmest smile his aching body could muster. Joshua returned it ten fold, beaming from ear to ear.

'Are we studying today?' He asked, sitting on the seat closest to the bookshelf.

'You study everyday,' Erik reminded him as he leaned forward and placed his elbows on the desk.

Joshua nodded. 'Yes but not with you.' The answer was straightforward, concise and true. All of the things that Erik had tried to teach Joshua to be.

'That's true,' Erik said, running his hand through his hair. He looked at Joshua who was framed in sunlight, the beams creating highlights in his dark hair. The boy looked at him with such attention, concentration... waiting for every word. Erik rested his chin in his hands.

'So, what are we studying?' Joshua asked, his blue eyes focusing intently on Erik.

'Vikings,' Erik said and forced a smile. 'Today we will study the Vikings and their effect on England.'

'Great!' Joshua exclaimed with genuine excitement.

'First, though...' Erik started and swallowed hard. This was an issue he was still unsure how to broach. 'First I want to talk to you about what happened downstairs yesterday.'

'I was thinking about that,' Joshua said causing Erik to look at him with raised eyebrows.

'Were you?' Erik asked, without taking his eyes away from Joshua.

'Yes,' he nodded. 'I concluded...' Joshua continued and Erik suppressed a chuckle. 'She is just struggling to fit in... she is new after all. Perhaps she was simply confused.'

Erik stared at Joshua and, not for the first time, marvelled at the boys ability to create reason in the most obscure situation.

'I was about to say the same thing,' Erik said with a nod. 'We spoke and she is very sorry and incredibly embarrassed about the whole thing.'

'She needn't be,' Joshua shrugged.

'She didn't mean to upset you,'

'I know... but, papa, I'm not sure _why_ I got so upset,'

'Did she frighten you?'

Joshua thought for a moment. 'No, I think… more surprised me.'

'Well that can be upsetting,' Erik said as he began to leaf through the pages of the book on his desk.

'I think...' Joshua frowned. 'For a minute I thought that perhaps I _did_ recognise her...'

Erik stopped looking at the book and stared at his son, his mind a whirl of questions he knew he had to be careful about asking. He focused his eyes onto Joshua's and held his gaze.

'Where from?' Erik asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

Joshua shrugged and let out a sigh. 'I don't know... she just looked familiar,'

'I see,' Erik felt a lump in his throat.

'This is going to sound very strange...' Joshua began, looking away from Erik. 'She had a smell... er... that I recognised.'

Erik ran his hand through his hair and tried to retain his well known composure but as he did he couldn't ignore the feeling of his heart slamming in his chest.

'Sorry,' Joshua said quietly.

Erik took a deep breath. 'And did you recognise her?' _please_...

'I don't think so,'

Erik realised he was holding his breath and exhaled slowly, trying not to make it too obvious that he was feeling nervous.

'Do you think perhaps I should talk to her and tell her that she hasn't upset me?' Joshua asked, his eyes softening in the glow of the room.

'No,' Erik said, too quickly. 'Not just yet.'

Joshua frowned and Erik reached across the table and grabbed his hand, his warmth immediately attacking Erik's fingertips.

'I just mean that she is so embarrassed I'm not sure she will want it mentioned again,' Erik said and rubbed the back of Joshua's hand with his. 'We should respect that, shouldn't we?'

Joshua nodded in agreement and Erik let out a sigh. Erik chastised himself inwardly for allowing the lying and manipulative person underneath to surface… particularly as he was surfacing in front of Joshua. But what else could he do? He was stranded in a no win situation where Joshua was concerned. Either he lied to the boy, concealing the facts so that he wouldn't be confused or hurt… or he told him and let what was sure to happen unfold, crushing Joshua's world and Erik's at the same time. Erik was doing the lesser of two evils.

Or at least he hoped he was.

Maybe one day Joshua would understand.

Sometimes he had more mature conversations with Joshua than he had with any adult he knew and mostly they were more enjoyable. In fact, Erik would go as far as to say that other than Antoinette Giry, Joshua was probably the most sensible person he knew. When Erik's mind snapped back to the present Joshua was opening his writing book up to a fresh page, Erik watched as he carefully picked the pen up with his left hand, dipped it in the ink pot and wrote 'Vikings' across the top of the paper.

Erik looked down at his own hands, bunched his long fingers into a tight fist and then flexed them back out again, watching the way the colour turned to white and then as they stretched the pink flowed back to the tips. He turned them over and stared at his palms, lines coated them but the hard skin he had once had from rowing was now gone completely. His hands were nearly as soft as his sons.

He groaned inwardly.

Joshua _wasn't_ his son.

Despite Erik's inner protests over the years, particularly in the first year of Joshua's life, Erik had wanted Joshua to be his son. He had wanted, so desperately, that connection with Christine, that intimacy... he had _craved_ that intimacy and the more he had watched Joshua as he grew the more he had missed Christine. Then over the last two years Erik had thought of Christine less and less, Fiona was a more than suitable replacement and he had filled his head with the wrongs she had done. He was more than convinced that she was dead.

Erik looked at Joshua and for the first time in years he wasn't really sure if it was Joshua himself that had made Erik love him or if it was Erik's misguided affection for Christine but the fact remained... Erik _did_ love Joshua.

* * *

The sun shone into the dining room and left shadows clinging to all of it's surfaces. James lifted the papers he was reading and turned his back to the window to stop the light from blinding him. The papers were simple enough, regarding invitations for dinners for Monsieur Valesk and various pages in relation to the house and it's up keep. Any invitations without a royal seal were to be disposed of in accordance with Valesk's recent instructions and any correspondence about the home was up to James to deal with. As he read he caught a glimpse of Chrissie out in the corridor and leaned back to see what she was doing. 

In her small hands she held a brush and was quietly, but busily, sweeping through the hallway. James watched her because since his conversation with Valesk that morning James had been thinking of ways to keep an eye on Chrissie to ensure her well being without it seeming to inappropriate. He turned his chair to partly face the door and pulled the papers close to his face.

She worked without stopping, moving the brush over the floor quickly and then paying attention to the skirting boards, ensuring that all of the dust was scraped from under the gap. James' eyes drifted from the floor to her face and for a moment he was stopped.

His heart sank at the sight of her face, her pretty features scrunched up in what could be anything from pain to anger... to sorrow. That's when he saw the light catch something on her face and cause it to shimmer.

It was a tear.

He looked on in fascination as the maid cried silently, going about her work without a word and dealing with whatever heartache she had purely on her own. The tear dripped off her cheek and splashed on the floor, when it had landed Chrissie moved the brush over it and smeared it away.

James frowned. 'Chrissie,' he called and she spun around to face him, her face paled instantly as she realised that he had seen her crying. James stood in silence and walked towards her, tilting his head to the side in an attempt to look approachable. It was a trick he had learned long ago.

Instead of answering him Chrissie diverted her eyes to the floor and James could tell she was trying to buy herself sometime.

'What on earth is wrong?' He said softly, reaching out and placing his hand on her shoulder. She flinched at his touched, turning her shoulder away and James quickly took his hand back. 'I'm sorry.'

'I'm fine,' Chrissie said, finally looking up at him.

'You don't really look fine,' he said simply but still his tone was gentle.

'Well, I am,' she said and James could tell that she was trying to be assertive but despite the shortness of the sentence, she was failing miserably.

'Why don't you sit down?' he said. 'Take a minute.'

Chrissie's brown eyes shone onto James and he was momentarily stunned by her beauty. It was a remarkably innocent beauty considering her profession, down working on her hands and knees and no doubt witnessing the worst of people. James shook the thought from his mind.

'I don't need to sit down,' Chrissie said softly.

'I'd actually prefer it if you did,' James stepped aside so that Chrissie could walk past him, which she reluctantly did. 'Sit down, Chrissie,'

Chrissie sat on the seat closest to her and looked up at him. 'Really...'

'You're fine,' James filled in. 'But you're obviously not.'

Chrissie's face instantly hardened and her gaze turned to a harsh glare. 'I am alright... I don't need this mollycoddling...'

'Chrissie...' James began but she stood and brushed the front of her apron with her hands.

'I don't have to explain myself,' she said simply and began to walk away from him.

James felt the sigh that escaped him, something about this girl had him fascinated and as yet he wasn't sure what it was. He toyed with the idea of letting her walk away but decided against it, mostly for his own peace of mind.

'No,' he said, a little too loudly. He coughed. 'No, you don't have to explain yourself... whatever it is that's bothering you is your business until it effects your work.' He stopped and looked at her, her eyes were so deep that for a moment he lost his train of thought. 'At the moment it doesn't appear to have but Chrissie... if you need to talk, I can listen and if there's anyway I can help I will try.'

'There's nothing anyone can do for me,' she said quietly.

'How do you know?' he asked. 'I mean, if you don't tell anyone how do you know that they won't be able to help?'

James watched as she turned her back on him once again. 'It's complicated.' She said.

'Complicated?'

'I'm sorry,' she said quietly, looking at him over her shoulder. 'I don't mean to seem rude... and I'm sorry that I snapped at you...' her shoulders heaved in a sigh. 'But this really is bigger than I can explain.'

With that Chrissie walked out of the room and out of sight, leaving James bemused and concerned in the dining room.

It was obvious to James that she had problems and more obvious that she wasn't going to tell him about them anytime soon.

He also knew that the only person with sadder eyes than Chrissie Levell was Erik Valesk.


	23. Angel Eyes

**A/N: I can't apologise enough for the slow update. E-mail is now being monitored at work so I can't write there! Forgive me.**

**Read and review and thank you all for the great reviews for the last chapter!**

**Chapter 23- Angel Eyes**

The knock at the door was faint, almost timid and Erik glanced up from his script to call his visitor in. He knew it was her, no one else in his home had the ability to sneak up on him and he cursed her inside for her light footsteps.

'Erik,' she said quietly, as she walked in and stood in the centre of the room. His eyes drifted over her from the corner of the room.

Dead on time.

'I'm over here,' he called as he stood and pushed the drape open with his hand.

His skin prickled as he felt her eyes move over him.

'Where… er… where do you want me?' she asked, as she gingerly stepped into the centre of the room. Erik felt his insides turn and wondered if it was repulsion or regret he felt when he looked at her.

'That… there is fine,' he said, swallowing hard as he took his seat at the piano to situated to her right. He lightly pressed his finger to a key and sound jumped from its stomach, filling the sparse room with light echo. He forced himself to look at her, let his eyes take her in.

Erik admitted to himself that she looked slightly better today, cleaner, she had obviously made the most of her stay in the quarters. As much as he didn't want her here, didn't really want her near him, in his life let alone in his house, he hated seeing her in the uniform.

It clung to her at the hips and across her chest, he noted the way it hung flat over her stomach and he saw the weight she had lost. She looked positively ill, if he was honest with himself. The uniform made her just another worker, another member of the lower classes and for a moment his mind drifted to the way she used to be. So beautiful, dark hair curling down to her shoulders, highlighted with golden streaks in the candle light. And her eyes, without the hurt that radiated now, they had an innocence and a warmth that only ever served to draw him in.

He shook the thoughts away and hardened his gaze on her.

'What do you want me to do?' she asked.

He grabbed the score from on top of the piano and threw it to her, without blinking she caught it and glanced at him, a look of surprise spread across her face.

'Just take that away,' he said, without moving. 'Read it and read it again… but show it to no one.'

She stared.

'Learn it,' he said. 'You can read the music, get the words in to your head. You remember how this is done… know it,' He swallowed. 'I want you to come back on Tuesday night, after working with the Baileys, and we will go through the first few parts.'

Christine said nothing.

'What are you waiting for?' he asked, his voice was too harsh, he knew that it was but still... 'Well?' he snapped, as he realised that she wasn't making a move to leave.

'I…' she began.

'Just go and learn it, Christine,' he said simply.

She nodded, reluctantly turning her back to him. 'I will see you on Tuesday,'

He turned away and read his own score without saying goodbye.

* * *

Nadir laughed heartily as James reminded him of all of their past encounters, long and short, which made their friendship what it was today. The nights in the Inns, swilling away their pain… yes, it was true, Nadir felt pain too. James knew it well.

Under the Persian's grinning face, dark jovial eyes and genial nature there was an underlying starkness to his life. James had quickly learnt that in Nadir's life there was a lack of family, of the love that parents have for their children, his existence had been devout of joyous 'get togethers' around open fires and under more open skies. So when Nadir worked for Erik Valesk, his one true friend, he worked hard and intently, carrying his boss' need for perfection on his own broad shoulders. He did it well.

Nadir never really let on that the only people close to him were James and Monsieur Valesk, that they were the only people he had really ever trusted. Of course, he had told James but not Erik Valesk, never Erik Valesk. He understood why. For anyone who had ever had the pleasure, or, in some cases, the _displeasure_, of meeting Monsieur Valesk it was understandable why a person, such as Nadir, would not want to seem vulnerable to him.

Erik Valesk was such a powerful man, with wealth and an influence with the British monarch that was almost unrivalled throughout the world. It made him not only untouchable but dangerous to anyone who crossed his path. If a person did not know him then it would be easy for them to say that a man, in spite of his stature, may still be mild and gentlemanly. Those who knew him had no such foolish preconceptions.

His eyes were enough to make anyone freeze in their tracks, James thought, he had experienced their authority first hand when he had made _the_ mistake It was with in his first week of service and he had tried to have Valesk's office cleaned.

He remembered it like it had happened yesterday.

It was an early spring morning with the sun starting to nudge through the gaps in the drapes, James had noticed that the office had not been cleaned since his arrival a few days earlier and he took the decision to take a maid in there and clean it from top to bottom.

He had been standing next to the bookcase, glancing at the title 'Romeo and Juliet' when Erik Valesk had walked in. James had not heard him approach… in fact, as he remembered, he had not ever heard him enter. Not until the maid gasped and stood from the bottom shelf, blinking nervously did he notice that his boss was there.

He had turned to face Monsieur Valesk to explain what he was doing but, as soon as he saw the steely blue of Valesk's eyes he knew that it was best to keep his mouth shut. James had never before seen gold in a man's eyes, a gold that shimmered around the edges and framed the cool blue inside. Eyes so intense that James was speechless, and though he hated to admit it, terrified.

James shuddered at the recollection. As if those eyes weren't enough, there was more to the presence of Erik Valesk that just that. There was the way he stood for a start, always seeming taller than his was, holding his hands rigidly to his sides, he always looked so in control and authoritative.

However, worse of all was the voice.

He remembered.

'What are you doing?' Valesk had asked, almost too politely, his voice low in his throat but quiet. James had looked from him to the maid, who was shaking violently, and then back to him slowly, trying desperately not to look into his eyes. Even then it had been useless, something about them, in spite of the fact that they had instilled the fear of God in to him, drew him too look at them.

'I…' He had stammered. 'We… er…'

'Do I need to repeat myself?' Valesk had asked, his tone calm but icy.

'No, sir,' James had said, swallowing a lump. 'I just thought I would clean your office… sir,'

'You did?' Erik Valesk nodded and stepped in to the room.

'Yes, sir,' James had said.

'Do I pay you to think?' His voice was frosty but almost detached, as if James was committing the worst crime imaginable and Valesk had just caught him in the act.

'No, Sir,' James had replied, feeling his heart thud. It was then that Erik Valesk had turned his cold eyes onto the maid and frowned.

'I doubt you were thinking,' he said to the maid. James was astounded at the cruelness of the statement.

Somehow she had found a quiet voice. 'No, sir,'

'Both of you,' Valesk hissed. 'Out.'

The maid hadn't needed to be told twice, the second the word escaped Valesk's mouth she shot out of the room faster than a bullet.

'James,' Valesk had said, as he too began to leave. 'I don't ever want to see you or any of the staff in here again,' he said, tone distinctly unfriendly. 'Understand?'

He had simply nodded.

James drifted back to the sound of Nadir's voice asking him if he was alright.

'Yes,' James said, smiling at his friend and trying to summon some more pleasant images to his mind.

'Are you sure?' Nadir said, returning his smile. 'You seemed to leave me for a moment there!'

James nodded. 'In truth, I did.'

'Where were you, my friend?' Nadir grinned. 'And did you bring me anything back?'

'No,' James said, chuckling. 'No gifts I'm afraid… I was actually thinking about my first encounter with Monsieur Valesk.'

'Oh,' Nadir said, obviously remembering the story for himself. 'What made that come to mind?'

'Well,' he said. 'I don't really know…I think it is because we have a knew maid and I worry that she might end up in the same situation as I was in all those years ago.'

Nadir smiled and patted James arm. 'You're a good man,' he said, with a smile. 'But I'm sure she had been plenty warned.'

'Of course,' he said, laughing nervously.

'You worry too much,' Nadir said. 'She will be fine… I'm sure Fiona has her well prepped.'

'You're right,' James said and then continued to make stories out of his memories, temporarily forgetting Chrissie.


	24. Crying Eyes

**A/N: Thank you again for reviews, they make any authors day but I'm sure you all know that! I managed to get this together just now so it is going up basically unedited. I hope you all like it.**

**I will reply to reviews individually during the week!**

**Read, review, enjoy! x**

****

**PS- No sooner had I logged the error report and replied to all of my reviews it let me upload! Either FF work very quickly or it was a minor blip already reported by others!**

**Chapter 24- Crying Eyes.**

The paper was beginning to dampen with the beads of Christine's sweat as she walked quickly back to the servant quarters. She passed along the corridor as quietly as she could, attempting to keep her breathing even despite the hard pounding in her chest and the prickling sensation of tears behind her eyes. Looking down at her hand she realised that the score Erik had given to her was crumpled in her hand, she was squeezing so tightly.

She loosened her grip and placed her spare hand on the banister as she began to descend the stairs. Dizziness overtook her momentarily and she was forced to spin around and grab the rail with her other hand. The motion caused her to release the pad of paper and she watched in quiet desperation as it floated to the floor of the hallway beneath her. Composing herself as swiftly as she could she sucked in a deep breath and darted down the stairs, falling to her knees when she arrived at the bottom. She cursed to herself and began to scoop the now loose paper into her arms.

It was then that she saw the feet by her hand and felt her heart heave into her throat. Tentatively she lifted her face to look at the owner of the black shoes.

James stared down at her, puzzled expression on his face, head tilted to the side, as it had been when he had spoken to her that morning.

'Chrissie…' he began but stopped when the sound of more feet approached the hallway.

'This must be the new maid,' the voice came from behind her and was markedly familiar to her ears. She didn't dare turn around, instead she reached out and slid another piece of paper into the shelter of her body.

'Yes, this is Chrissie…' James knelt down by her side and extended his arm to pick up a portion of the score.

'No!' she said, too loudly. 'No, it's fine really… I er.. I'm so clumsy today,' she swallowed what tasted like bile.

'Really, Chrissie, it's no problem,' James said and lifted a section of the pad. Christine reacted quickly, tearing it from his hand and hugging it to her chest. It was a moment before she realised that he was staring at her.

'I'm sorry,' she said quietly, as she picked another piece of the paper from the floor and piled it with the rest.

'Jumpy aren't you?' the voice from behind her said.

'Not at all,' she said, heart racing as the voice came closer and finally stood in front of her, next to James.

'Let us help,' James insisted but Christine shook her head and grabbed the last remaining segments of paper. It was only when she had finished that she looked up at the voice.

Her eyes widened as she took in his dark face.

His black eyes had widened too, she noticed.

'What on earth is wrong?' James asked as Christine slowly clambered to her feet and began to back away from both of the men. 'Chrissie?'

'Nothing,' she said quickly. 'Embarrassed, I suppose…'

'No need,' James smiled and stepped towards her, tilting his head again. Christine noticed how endearing the gesture made him look. 'I'm dropping things all the time.'

Christine's eyes focused onto his friend and James seemed to notice her looking at him.

'My apologies!' James exclaimed, stepping out of her eye-line. 'Chrissie, this is Nadir… he's a good friend of mine.'

'A pleasure,' Nadir said quietly, dark eyes centred on her face.

She nodded slowly. 'I have to go,' she gasped as she ran for the exit.

* * *

'Excuse me,' James said to Nadir, as he turned and bolted after the maid. He had no idea what had got into Chrissie today but at this moment in time he was sure he was going to have to find out.

He found her sitting quietly by the open fire, which was crackling slowly, in the living area of their quarters. All of the other staff were working or visiting their family and so they had the room to themselves. Her chocolate eyes met his as he stepped through the front door, clicking it shut behind him.

'I think we need to talk,' he said, noticing that the papers she had been carrying were no longer in her possession.

'Why?' she said, and James knew that she was playing stupid.

'What was that?' he asked, controlling the level of his voice. He did not wish to frighten or startle her in any way. All he wanted was answers.

'What?' she asked quietly and averted her eyes from him to the steamed window.

James smiled, genuinely. 'Lets neither of us treat the other like they are stupid, Chrissie,' he said.

'I'm sorry…' she murmured. 'I never meant it to seem as if I were…'

'Its fine,' he said and sat on the arm of the long settee. 'But you have to admit that you are acting rather strangely.'

'As we are not treating each other like idiots perhaps I can inquire,' she began. 'How it is that you seem to know that this is strange behaviour for me…'

James stopped himself from smiling, he was getting the impression that he was about to see the real Chrissie Levell. He knew that she was educated, to some degree at least, but the way she had structured her sentence and the way the tone of her voice had dipped proved to him just how correct he was.

'You see, James,' she continued, finally bringing her eyes back to rest on him. 'You've known me but a few days and yet you presume that the way I have acted today is in some way… not normal for me.'

This time he did smile. 'Is it normal for you?'

Chrissie shrugged.

'Alright,' James said, knowing when he was beaten. 'I made a judgement… from the way you look and carry yourself… is my judgement incorrect?'

'Not really,' she said and this time she seemed to force a small smile.

'Then what is going on?' he asked.

'I told you this morning,' she said simply and James felt slightly exasperated.

'You told me nothing,'

'I told you all that I am willing to tell you,' she smiled but the sadness in her eyes remained.

'That whatever it is, is too complicated for you to explain?' he asked, moving to the seat of the chair closest to her, half expecting her to move away. She didn't but she did keep her eyes on him.

'Yes,' she said and something inside James knew that she was being honest.

'I meant what I said too,'

'That being?' she asked.

'If there is anything I can do to help…'

She stopped him. 'There isn't,' she said quietly, sadness creeping slowly back into her voice. 'James…'

He looked at her, raising his eyebrows.

'How do you find working here?' she asked with an almost too quiet sigh.

'I like it,' he replied, honestly. 'And you?'

'I haven't really been here long enough to comment,'

James knew that feeling well. He had been asked the same question in the first week of his service by Nadir, whose eyes had shone with curiosity. Despite James confrontation with Erik Valesk that week had been both up and down and at that time he was unsure how he felt about the job. He had no doubt now.

'Well,' James said. 'You have met Madame Valesk, at least, she is a good woman,'

'She seems it,' Chrissie said quietly causing James to think about the way she had let the words come out. It was as if she believed them yet did not want to.

'She is,' he said, watching Chrissie's eyes for a response as she got up to leave the room. Something in his chest told him to stop her, he didn't want her to go, he wanted to know more. 'So…' he said. 'You work for the Bailey's in the week… how do you find that?'

Chrissie did not turn to face him. 'I don't like it,' she said simply and placed her hand on the door knob to her room. James frowned and stood up.

'Why not?' he asked, confused, as he had always found Deborah Bailey most pleasant. His question was met with a shrug of Chrissie's slender shoulders. 'Well, if you don't like it why don't you work here permanently… all week?'

Chrissie pushed the door to her room open an inch before glancing over her shoulder at his, setting her eyes upon his face.

'I can't,' she said, almost inaudibly.

'I don't see why not,' James said quickly, trying to move towards her. Why didn't he want her to leave? 'He doesn't own you, simply pays your wages…'

Chrissie said nothing and took a step forward, parting the gap of the door wider, so that James could see her night gown hanging over the chair in her room.

'Nobody owns you,' James said, as if that would make her stay.

'He does,' Chrissie said softly, almost to herself.

'Bailey?' he said.

'No,' she said simply and closed the door behind her, leaving James to stare at the white door in more confusion than when he had first arrived.


	25. Confrontation

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews! I appreciate them as always. I will reply personally to each of them as soon as I get a minute.**

**Again as I am not writing this at work, it goes up unedited. Forgive me,**

**Read, enjoy, review x**

**Chapter 25- Confrontation. **

Erik sat in the music room alone, the dark settling over the earth as night closed in around England's inhabitants. He was leaning back in the largest chair in the room with his feet propped up on the table in front of him. On the corner of the table sat the score to the opera, next to it a bottle of sharp whisky that he often had to talk himself into drinking.

Not tonight.

The glass, half empty, rested in his right hand, which was leaning on the arm of the chair as he let his gaze wander back to the slightly open window. Sometimes it was the case that he missed the cold dampness of the cellar, of his real home, and he would leave the windows open and his shirt half undone to feel the wrath of Mother Nature's cold. He glanced back at the glass before closing his eyes and resting his head back against the top of the chair.

He sighed.

'Are you always so lacklustre in protecting yourself these days, Erik?' Came the male voice from the doorway.

'I heard you,' Erik said, honestly. 'I knew it was you…. Are you suggesting that you are some sort of threat to me now, Daroga?'

Nadir closed the door behind him and walked over to the piano, leaning on it casually.

'So there I am…' Nadir said slowly, causing Erik to finally open his eyes and frown at him. Nadir's eyes seemed darker than usual, perhaps just a shade, but Erik saw it.

'I'm not feeling very patient tonight,' Erik snapped and placed his feet on the floor, sitting upright and glaring at the Persian.

Nadir seemed to ignore him and continued leisurely. 'So there I am…' he repeated, Erik groaned inwardly. 'Just… minding my own business…'

Erik lowered his tone. 'Daroga…' He warned. He knew that he didn't need to say anymore than that.

'… in the corridor…' Nadir continued. 'And who should I happen upon…'

'Christine,' Erik said quietly. 'I was going to tell you earlier,'

'And here I was thinking that _you_ were the ghost,' Nadir said, and Erik rolled his eyes. 'Yet one appears in your very home…'

Erik simply nodded. What was the point in arguing an inarguable fact? Christine had reappeared in his life, in his house and seemingly from the dead. Perhaps Nadir was right, maybe _she_ was the ghost.

'How does your own medicine taste?' Nadir said and Erik leapt to his feet.

'Do you think that's funny?' Erik growled, eyes glowing under the gas lanterns.

'No,' Nadir said calmly, if he felt fear then he certainly was not showing it. 'I think it's true.'

'I don't see how I deserve that,' Erik said, relaxing his shoulders.

'Perhaps you don't,' Nadir shrugged. 'But God has a funny…'

'Don't speak to me about your God, Persian,' Erik spat, glaring at the shorter man. 'If God is here then he gave me this face… he lent me the evil of the devil, he put me in the arms of death before I knew life! There is no God, there never was… don't speak to me about _your_ God!'

'Well,' Nadir said, seemingly unfazed. 'Something has certainly evened the field.'

Erik looked at the man's eyes, he expected to find malice but there was none. They were just as round and dark as always, just as soft and earnest and Erik wondered why it surprised him that Nadir was not deliberately torturing him. He slumped back into his seat, sipping his whisky at first and then taking a longer, more satisfying gulp. It burned his throat and he welcomed the painful relief.

'Do you think I treated her badly?' Erik said, letting his own blue eyes settle back upon his friend.

'Do you need me to answer that?' Nadir asked, pulling a stool out from the table and sitting on it.

'I didn't mean to,' Erik said and felt the pity in his mouth. He hated the way it tasted.

Nadir nodded slowly. 'I know,' he said, grabbing the bottle and extra glass and pouring himself a tot of the whisky. 'Erik… you killed people…'

'I know,' he attempted a firm answer but somehow it was lost in his throat.

'People she knew,'

'People who hurt her!' Erik barked.

'Maybe so…' he said, neither agreeing nor refuting Erik's statement. 'It's still murder, Erik, she was still frightened,'

'So frightened that she left the boy with me,' Erik said, lifting his eyebrows.

'Are we back to calling him boy?' Nadir asked.

Erik shook his head.

'Glad to hear it,' the Persian said, half smiling. 'Yes… she left him with you… she was so frightened of you that she realised that his safest place was with you.'

'Would you leave your child with the man you were most frightened of?'

'I work for him,' Nadir said, his smile reappearing. 'It's similar.'

Erik couldn't help but show a rare smile. 'Not even close, Daroga,'

'I'm not saying she didn't care for you, Erik…'

'She didn't love me,' he said simply, feeling the burning pain in his chest as he said he words. Too much whisky.

'I don't see how we could say either way…' Nadir said and Erik let his eyes fall back down to his own hands. He and Nadir had only ever spoken about this properly once, years ago, when they first left Paris for Egypt. It was painful then, now it seemed so inconvenient but there was something else… something he didn't recognise. Nadir continued. 'She was scared… young… even you have to admit that you took advantage of her…'

'I…' Erik began to protest, the anger rising within him.

'I don't mean like that…' Nadir said. 'Not _exactly_ like that… I mean that she had no one, she had lost her father, her mother, her friends and you capitalised on her weaknesses… as you do with everyone.'

'If you are you going to sit here and criticise me, Daroga,' Erik said quietly. 'I must warn you that I don't take very kindly to it, not even after all of these years.'

Erik looked back at the Persian who nodded in understanding.

'I'm not criticising,' he said, leaning forward. 'I'm simply telling you that you are so intelligent that whether you know it or not… you manipulate people,'

'Who needs enemies…' Erik sighed and rested his head back against the chair.

'I _am_ your friend Erik, you should know that by now…' he said. 'I have kept your secret for so many years and not even on my death bed will I give you up.'

Erik knew it.

'I'm just being honest,'

Erik frowned, darkening his eyes. 'Then get it over with, I could do without this kind of honesty.'

'Never mind,' Nadir shrugged. 'How did she end up here anyway?'

'I suppose only your God knows that,'

This time it was Nadir who rolled his eyes and Erik tried to summon anger to his body but found nothing but weariness now.

'She came here by chance…' Erik said quietly, thinking about Fiona beaming as she told him about their new maid, who would get their home back into shape, who would clean and help with the chores without batting an eyelid. The new maid who would make their lives easier. 'My wife took a shine to her.'

'Don't you check your staff first?'

Erik shook his head. 'I leave it up to Fiona.'

'I can understand that,'

'Yes,' Erik nodded. 'Her judgement is usually so good.'

'It was good this time, Erik,' Nadir said and Erik once again closed his eyes.

'I suppose it was,' Erik conceded. 'How was she to know…' hepaused. 'All she knows is thatmy first wife is dead…'

Nadir sighed. 'What about Joshua?' he said and Erik knew that he had been waiting for the moment to introduce the subject.

Yes… what about Joshua, he thought?

'Nothing,' Erik stated, simply, as he leaned forward, placing his glass on the table top.

'Does she know?'

'Yes,'

'This is cruel, Erik,' Nadir said simply. 'Fire her…'

'I … can't,' Erik stood up and paced over to the window, leaning against the sill and staring out to the blinking eyes of the night sky. They sparkled so brightly.

'Why not?' Nadir asked, Erik could feel his eyes follow him around the room.

'I need her,' Erik said as he turned his back to the window so that he was facing the Persian.

He looked confused. 'I know this happens a lot between the two of us, friend, but I don't understand you.'

Somehow Erik felt a smile form on his lips as the words played out in his mind. He wondered if anyone would ever understand him when not even his closest friends could.

'She is playing lead in my opera,'

Nadir stared at first and then he blinked.

Then he shook his head, as if trying to shake away an air of disbelief. Apparently he didn't succeed.

'Would you mind repeating that? I do believe my ears deceive me,' Nadir said taking a deep breath. 'Either that or you are more insane than anyone gave you credit for, Phantom,'

'No,' Erik said simply. 'You heard me correctly. I convinced her to be the diva for my opera.'

'Oh boy does this feel like history repeating itself…'

Erik glared. 'It isn't,'

'Then she knows what she is getting herself into?'

'I don't see how she couldn't,' Erik shrugged, feeling somehow that he had regained the upper hand in this conversation. 'She knows that I am here, she knows that I am married, she knows that Joshua is here and that he doesn't know she is alive… and I'm more than sure she knows the consequences of what will happen is he finds out that she is.'

Nadir looked as wide eyed as Erik had ever seen him and inside Erik had a sick sense of satisfaction crawling through his veins.

'She is informed,' Erik said. 'I told her that she was free to go anytime… she declined.'

'That simple, was it?' Nadir asked, the scepticism almost tangible in his tone.

'Entirely,' Erik said and flashed him a wicked grin.

'And how informed are you?' Nadir asked, standing to leave. 'Do you know what you're getting yourself into?'

'I always do,' Erik said simply and turned his back on his small friend for the last time that day.


	26. Misconceptions

**A/N: Slightly shorter chapter! Thank you all for the reviews, bear with me if I seem to be moving slowly… some of you have started to notice things coming together already.**

**Read, review, enjoy! x**

**Chapter 26- Misconceptions. **

Monday seemed to pass by so quickly, the cold still gripping the ground, causing frosts and slippery cobbles in the town. Christine had woken Tuesday morning feeling groggy and more tired than she ever remembered being, even when she was sleeping on the streets thinking of Joshua and the life that she had lost.

It was another early morning, she gathered up the old basket and her older shawl, draping the latter over her shoulders and hooking the former over her forearm. She looked around the poor excuse for a home she was forced to live in during the week, some of the staff had the opportunity to sleep in this morning, the others were already hard at work in the Bailey house.

Her fingers wrapped around the handle of the door and as she was about to push it open she heard a quiet groan from the far side of the room. She turned and looked at the restless, but sleeping, figure of Sarah. The girl's hands were gripping the tip of the blanket, which looked almost suffocated in the grasp. Her eyes were clenched tightly shut, she tossed from side to side and Christine could see, even from where she was standing, the sweat formed across the young maid's brow. Sarah was sleeping but she was not resting.

Christine pulled the shawl tighter around her shoulders and opened the door, stepping out and closing it after herself, as quietly as she could. The wind was ferocious this winter morning and Christine found herself, for the first time in years, longing for the shelter of her old Paris home. She shrugged the thought away and walked down the short path the back lane and then followed the road slowly, heading for the town.

As she walked she thought of Sarah. She could try to fool herself into thinking she did not know what was the matter with the girl, but she knew. Christine had seen it before with most of the other staff that had worked for the Baileys. Sarah was young and underneath and muck and grime, pretty. She had an open face which invited looks from the male staff but most of all from Michael Bailey.

Christine knew, however, that Sarah's fate was not directly the result of Michael's abuse. She had seen the sweating foreheads and uncomfortable nights before, they were often followed by hard coughing and then the Baileys would dismiss their services.

They would send them away to die.

Christine had hoped that Sarah, like herself, would avoid that outcome.

She knew now that she wouldn't.

Of course, Christine knew that it was only a matter of time before she too had contracted the deathly illness, which seemed to kill so many people. The longer she spent at the Baileys the more likely it was that she too, would die.

Christine shivered the lashings of wind and thanked God that at least it was not raining, though the sky was black as coal. She thought about the script that Erik had given her, she had read the words, the music, tried to rehearse but instead she just read and thought about them. The opera was about a man last at war and the woman he left behind, the love they had for each other and the things that happen both at war and at home.

However, to Christine's surprise there was a twist in the tale, and as she had read the last few pages she had found her eyes welled with tears and her hands gripping the pages tighter that she had ever held anything. The man died. It was what she expected of course, she knew Erik better than to expect a happy ending from him. What she hadn't expected was that the relationship between the man and the woman was that of brother and sister… not of lovers.

Then when Christine re read it, it all made sense to her. If you knew the ending then you noticed the lack of lusty undertones. If the audience did not know the ending, which nobody would, then they would watch the whole play assuming the relationship between the two leads was man and wife. Erik was teaching his audience a lesson in taking things at face value.

Christine could not stop the smile from spreading onto her face as she thought about the opera. Erik had not really changed so much from the man she had known all of those years ago. He still wore the mask, he wore so many masks and he was still fighting a battle he once could never win. But now?

Now he had a chance.

People would see his work, people would understand the plight that some people went through and people would learn lessons about misconceptions. This was Erik's ultimate plan.

Christine continued to walk against the wind.

May God bless Erik, she thought, and those who listen to him.

* * *

'Will you be going to the opera in a few weeks, sir?' the old butler asked his master, as he handed him his invitation to the opening night. The younger man in the chair took the envelope from his hands and read the tickets. 

'Are these new?' he asked, resting his eyes on the butler's reddened face.

'Yes, sir,' the old man replied, pouring the young man glass of cool water.

The master took the glass and a sip of the water. 'Why have they sent new ones?'

'They are remade, sir,' the butler said, standing at his employers left shoulder so that he could just feel the heat of the blazing fire. 'Apparently, there is a new actress playing the lead.'

The young man nodded. 'Hmm,' he mumbled. 'Do you not think it is a bit late to be changing your main characters around… that can learn an opera in a few weeks?'

'I don't know,' the butler replied. 'I didn't give it much thought.'

'That will be all,' he said and with a shake of his hand he politely dismissed his butler and glanced down at the two tickets in his hand.

Who would change their diva at the last minute like this and why? The young man leaned back in the large chair, letting the warmth of the fire surround him. He reached up and took the tie out of his long golden hair and let it fall onto his shoulders. Thinking it was about time he got it cut he resolved to do it before he went to the opera.

* * *

James looked at his friend as he stood in the doorway staring aimlessly out of the large bay windows at the front of the head. The view from them was magnificent rolling fields and a farm over the first hill but James knew that Nadir had seen them before and wondered what had him so mesmerised. 

'What is the matter?' James asked, laying a hand on his shoulder gently.

Nadir glanced at him. 'I'm thinking,' he said quietly, looking back out at the view.

'Dare I ask what about?' James said, standing by the Persian's side.

'I don't think you want to know,' Nadir said.

James looked at him in silence for a moment. Usually a comment such as that from Nadir would mean that he had met a woman and was thinking of her company but James knew his friend well enough to know that on this occasion, that was not the case. The tone of his voice and the worry in his dark eyes was enough to cause James concern.

'I'm a little worried about you,' he said and Nadir tilted his head to the side to look at him.

'Why?' he asked, with a shrug.

'You aren't yourself,' James said. 'Haven't been since Sunday.'

'I'm fine, really,' Nadir said as he moved away from the window and towards the fireplace, on the far wall. He placed his hands over the flames.

'I don't think that I have heard you laugh in days,' James persisted, following him to the fire.

Nadir smiled. 'I feel slightly out of sorts,' he said. 'Perhaps I have a cold.'

'Perhaps,' James said as Nadir turned to leave.

When he had gone James frowned and walked through the kitchen to check on the cook and the afternoon meal. But his mind was with the strange behaviour of the people in the house. Chrissie, the new maid, was most odd yet endearing. Monsieur Valesk had barely shown his face in two days and Nadir was acting like the world was resting upon his shoulders.

James knew that something was wrong with Nadir but he wasn't sure exactly what. What he did know was that it certainly was not a cold.


	27. Music of the Night

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews, appreciated as always. **

**Might be a week before the next update so let me know what you think. **

**Read, review, enjoy x**

**Chapter 27- Music of the Night**

Erik sat quietly with his back to the door, looking out of the window. From here he could see for miles and, to his satisfaction, for miles there was nothing. He looked around him at the instruments he had in the room and chose to pick up the violin from its stand.The cold of the wood felt at home in his hands,heran his finger acrossthe length of one of the strings and then around theedge of it's shape.He had become, oddly, more fascinated with this instrument over the years than he had with the piano.

He had found it slightly more difficult to learn and found that the instrument required perfection where some others did not. It was touchy master, not content with mediocrity. He had, many years ago, resolved to master it, and finally he believed that he had.

He reached down and lifted his pocket watch up to his eyes. It was nearly time for Christine's lesson and part of him wondered if she would arrive at all. He half expected her to run, leave him again, but he knew deep down that she would not.

He knew in his soul, what little of it he had left, that she would never want to be far away from her son again. Whether she was allowed to be his mother or not. Oddly, Erik's chest heaved at the thought that Christine would not approve of the way he had looked after Joshua. It was a feeling he needed to get rid of because, whatever Christine thought, it did not matter.

It would not matter.

He stood and stared out of the window, the dark was comfortably blanketing the ground and the stars had appeared for the first time in well over a week. He was glad to see them, somehow he found the stars more inspiring than anything else.

He reached across and drew the drapes closed across the window plunging the room into darkness.

Now he waited.

* * *

The doorbell rang loudly through the open chambers of the house, echoing around their empty walls. Nadir glanced up from the newspaper he had finally found the mindset to read and looked at the mantel clock. It was nearly seven. 

James brushed past him on his way to answer the door but Nadir put his hand out and grabbed his friend's hand.

'I'll get it,' Nadir said, as he stood, letting go of James' hand.

'I'm not sure if you've noticed,' James said, smiling. 'But I tend to do that around here.'

Nadir flashed him a grin. 'Well, if I'm honest I could do with a drink,' he said, walking towards the door. 'You get me a drink, I will answer the door.'

Nadir saw the flicker of confusion cross James' face before he shrugged his shoulders and changed his course so that he was heading towards the kitchen. When James escaped his sight Nadir walked quickly to the front door and opened it a fraction, peering around its edge.

'I'm glad you answered,' Christine said, as he opened the door further.

'Well,' Nadir said. 'I'm not sure how you would have explained it to James.'

'I couldn't go the back way,' she said quietly as he let her in and shuffled her towards the stairs.

'I know,' he said, without smiling. He still could not believe that this was happening around him. Not only was Erik risking his sanity, not for he first time, but Christine seemed happy to play along. 'He's upstairs,'

'Thank you,' she placed a foot on the bottom step of the stairway. Nadir noticed how much older she looked, how gaunt and thin her face had become over the years. It was obvious where she had ended it but he could not help but wonder how she had found herself there. She turned to look at him with sorrowful brown eyes. 'I'm sorry…'

'It isn't me you need to apologise to,' Nadir growled, wondering where his anger had sprung from.

As if reading his mind Christine placed her hand on her chest. 'Why are you angry with me?' she asked.

Nadir blinked as he looked at her, trying to sound out an answer in his own mind. He couldn't find anything other that he was concerned for his friend's well being, and how did that sound? Erik had always insisted that he needed no one and least of all anyone's protection or concern. Nadir ignored the urge to answer and attempted a smile.

He knew that it looked false.

'I'm not,' he said simply. 'Now go before James gets back with my drink.'

As she walked away Nadir shook his head and walked towards the kitchen wondering how he always managed falling into the mess that Erik often found himself in. It was not as if Erik was the nicest, politest man on the planet and it regularly occurred to Nadir that if it wasn't for all they had been through and for the opportunities Erik had given him over the last few years then the two of them would probably not be friends.

When he thought about it further his mind came to the realisation that had it not been this way Erik would probably have killed him long ago.

* * *

Christine tried to shrug off her uneasy feeling as she ascended the tall staircase of the Valesk house. She reached the top and peered around the corner wall, so that she could see if anyone was coming down the corridor. When she saw that the coast was clear she step out quietly, but quickly, and made her way along the hallway. When she got to the music room she noticed that the door was open a crack, which was unusual for Erik, and she put her hand out to push it open. It was when she heard more than one voice inside that she stopped. 

'I'd like to hear you play,' the voice was Fiona's and she was standing by the window, Christine could just make out the outline of her hand.

It was then that she heard the sound of the bow cross the strings of the violin and she stopped, watching the silhouettes in the room as the music escaped the gap in the door. The sound was beautiful, almost too perfect, as it captured the coldness of the night and made it magnificent. It was a sad piece, written and played from the heart. The sounds jumped across the room on the air, riding it around the walls and into Christine's ears as she stood at the doorway helpless, unable to move, unable to draw herself away from the sound.

She leaned against the doorframe, closing her eyes, letting her body get lost in the sound of the instrument. She had not heard music played like this in many, many years… it had been_too_ many years since she had last heard Erik play and it seemed nearly as long since she had heard music at all. He continued to play and Christine was sure that Fiona was still listening intently, as she was.

How would the world be without music?

After she had left Paris, pregnant and married to Raoul, she had gone for months without listening to even a note. Not because Raoul did not approve but because the move had been difficult for them. It was hard work in a new marriage with a pregnancy that seemed to last forever, to them insist on having a piano to play.

Of course, Raoul did not approve but he never stopped her. He would simply leave her to it. No, Raoul did not approve but it was as if he understood enough to let her do what she needed to. It hadn't been long after the piano had arrived that they had taken Raoul away. And with his life they had taken hers.

Her husband, her son and her music.

She glanced back through the opening in the door, watching as Fiona's hands came together, as if ready to applaud. The music continued to play, continued to keep her stuck at the door, listening in wonderment as soft and graceful note as they fell together in a sad and long tune.

Christine placed her hand over her heart and grasped the material of her dress, squeezing it tightly as she listened. Her emotions seemed to bubble right under the surface and she found herself only barely controlling them. She took a long, deep breath and simply listened under the music reached a slow but meaningful crescendo and then there was silence. Christine heard no sound, he said nothing and neither did Fiona.

She watched as he stepped in he eye line, violin in one hand, blocking Christine's view of Fiona. Then she saw Fiona move towards her and place her hand on his shoulder.

'That was beautiful,' Fiona said quietly and Christine's throat tightened as she watched her kiss his cheek with tenderness. Jealousy overwhelmed her and she stood upright, turning to leave. The sound of his voice stopped her.

'Thank you, Fiona,' he said and she could hear the smile in his voice.

Christine smiled as she felt a tear slip from her eye and trickle along her cheek. As she made her way to Erik's office she was smiling at the fact that Joshua had not called Fiona mother.


	28. After All This Time

**A/N: I edited the last chapter in document manager after I had uploaded it… Fanfiction left out loads of my spaces in the first chapter **

**Thank you all for the reviews, I hope you enjoy this chapter**

**RR**

_'**And behind his tired eyes,**_

**_She sees the boy with his arms wide,_**

**_Who made her feel like an angel,_**

**_That's why,_**

**_She's loving him still,_**

**_For the rest of her life_**

**_She is loving him still,_**

**_After all this time.'_ – Simon Webbe.**

**Chapter 28- After All This Time**

It wasn't even that she was frightened anymore, she was rarely frightened of anything these days, it was more that she was anxious of what was going to happen. Christine remembered quite clearly the day fear had relinquished its grip on her soul. She had been cleaning the stair case, on her knees, as she often was, when Michael Bailey walked up behind her reeking of stale booze and cigar smoke. She could almost feel his presence now as she walked up to Erik's study.

The smell had always made her stomach turn, for so many different reasons. She turned to look at him and when she did she realised that he had been crying. His hard grey eyes were misted with tears, they were blood shot at the edges and his face was a dark shade of pink, where usually he was so pale. She sat back and took in the sight, his shirt hanging from his shoulders in a disgusting mess, his face so blotchy he was almost unrecognisable. It was at that moment that the fear she had allowed to consume her just seemed to vanish.

She realised that in the darkest moments no one could hurt her more than she had already been hurt, in fact, to kill her would be merciful. Michael Bailey was a pathetic fool with roving eyes and Christine just happened to be there when he staggered home from the Inn and his wife wasn't interested the tang of the beer. Now, it barely bothered her. She didn't seem to notice because while he was on top of her, taking what he thought he had bought, she was someone else, somewhere else, with other people in a different time.

She was Carlotta, miserable and untalented, making a mockery of music as if she owned it but it was better to be raped than to murder something that the whole world loved. She remembered that as Michael grunted over her. Sometimes she became Piangi, short and ugly but with a voice that even Erik appreciated. How she longed to be appreciated by Erik, how she had always longed to be appreciated by Erik…

Madame Giry was her favourite escape. Christine had often wished that she had the harsh and cold demeanour that Antoinette Giry could so easily and readily command. She closed her eyes, drifted away, and was the person who had such an aura that people just stopped and listened. She could almost feel the cold wood of the cane in her own hand as she quietly envisioned the ballet mistress, centre stage, watching silently as the dancers did their work and mostly, did it well.

Every once in a while she was Meg, pirouetting as they both used to, around the large empty stage at the heart of the Opera house. She had Meg's beautiful hair and soft blue eyes, her long slender legs that could leap and bound with as little as no effort at all. She missed Meg but when she was there, eyes closed, she thought of her and it was as if they were together… friends.

Christine rested the back of her hand against the door to Erik's study, took a deep breath, and then knocked quietly.

'Come in,' his voice was even, as always. She pushed the door open and stepped inside in silence. The room was light, the gas lantern was on in the corner and there were candles lit around the room.

'Hello…' she whispered, finally, unsure what to say to him. She watched him turn to face her and stand. He moved his hand out in front of him, motioning for her to take a seat.

Nervously she did.

'Did you read it?' he asked, she could see that he was looking at the crumpled score in her hand. Without a thought, she followed his eyes to it and then slowly she let her eyes drift back to his face.

'Yes,' she said quietly, heart slowing to an almost normal pace.

'And..?' he asked, watching her as she continued to watch him. Was he asking for her approval?

Unsure she coughed the lump from her throat. 'I thought… I think,' she corrected. 'That I will have no problems performing this.'

He nodded slowly. 'Good.'

'So…' she said, her palms were starting to feel damp.

'Have you memorised any of it?' he asked, sitting on the edge of the desk, looking so unbelievably casual. She wondered if he was forcing it, if deep down he was simply as nervous as she was but she doubted it. His outward expression gave nothing away.

'Yes,' she said quietly. 'Almost the first Act.'

He nodded. 'We need to put that to the music,' Christine nodded back as she watched him lift the violin from the table and place it at this chin. As he played Christine simply watched until he stopped and let his eyes rest on her face.

'This is where it will lead to you…' he said pulling the bow back across the strings. 'When I nod I want you to… I just want you sing however you feel like singing.' He reached the bow out and tapped the first line on the page. 'It will be there that you start.'

With that he closed his eyes, drawing the bow back across, making the instrument hum softly. She stood slowly, taking a deep breath, watching him carefully… waiting nervously for the cue. When he nodded she was ready, she opened her mouth and words tumbled out, quietly at first in a rush, she saw Erik open his eyes and frown, but continue playing.

He did not need to speak for her to know what was on his mind. She had started badly; the lyrics to his opera had sprung from her mouth like a burst pipe. She slowed herself, listened carefully as he played and tried to bring herself in to line with it. The last thing that either of them needed was Erik frustrated and so she continued to sing, struggling through the first bars but gradually she began to find her real voice.

Letting his music glide into her soul she closed her eyes and rather than listen, she felt, as he had once taught her so many years ago. It sounded better to her own ears as she allowed herself to be swept away with the tune and as she was swept, her voice carefully followed. When she opened her eyes and looked at Erik and simply nodded, before stopping and placing the violin back on the table.

He sighed. 'That was poor,' he said simply, seemingly emotionless.

'I…' she swallowed. 'I'm sorry.'

He shrugged. 'You pulled some of the notes back at the end,' he said as he folded his arms across his chest.

'Thank you,' she said softly.

'Don't that me Christine,' he said. 'I'm going to put you through a lot… don't thank me.'

She took a deep breath. 'I'm sorry,'

'And stop apologising,' he said. 'It wasn't all bad.'

She nodded.

'You know the words,' he said. 'You never even looked at the score, even to follow the music…' she opened her mouth to speak but he continued. '_This_ is good because you at least remember some of what I taught you.'

Christine sat back down slowly and looked up at him, framed in the flickering light of the candles.

'Remember from start to finish that you don't need to know the music but you do need to understand it,' he said. 'Music isn't mathematics or science, it is emotion and an art… there are no real rights and wrongs if, like you, the singer has the ability to be inside the music.'

Christine felt a sigh creep into her body as she listened to Erik speak about his one true love. She had missed this side of Erik, this passionate side, this calm side.

'So be inside music,' he said softly. 'Also… do you have a cold?'

'I don't think…'

Erik grunted. 'Yes, you do,' he said simply.

'Well…'

'Well nothing,' he said sharply. 'You should not be working.'

'Erik, I have to work,'

'Just tell Michael that you are ill and need some time off,' Erik said and Christine looked down at her hands, feeling her heart lurch in her chest. She couldn't tell Michael Bailey that she couldn't work.

'Erik,' she said quietly. 'If I don't work I don't get paid.'

'I'll pay you,' Erik said.

Christine shook her head. 'I don't want to take your money like that,'

'Like what, exactly?'

'Like…'

'Nothing,' he stopped her. 'You work for me and you are absolutely no good to me with a sore throat.'

'No good to you…'

'I can't have a singer, who can't sing,'

'A singer?' her throat tightened.

'That's what you are,' he said with a shrug. 'And what point is there to a singer if the singer has no voice?'

'I understand,' Christine's heart fell.

'Then you'll tell Michael that you can't work?' it sounded like a question but she knew that it wasn't. Erik was giving her an instruction.

She nodded. 'Yes,'

'Then we will practise no more tonight,' he said simply, turning his back to her to stare out of the window. 'We won't strain your voice.'

'Of course,' the words were barely audible.

'I will see you on Thursday night, same time,' he said. 'That way you have tomorrow to rest.'

'Yes…' Christine murmured.

'You can leave now,' he said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. She stood carefully and watched him for a moment. When he made no move to look at her she turned and walked to the door.

'Christine,' he said.

'Yes, Erik,' she said turning quickly to look at him.

'Get some sleep,' he said coldly. 'You look terrible.'


	29. Reprise

**A/N: Apologies for short chapter and long delay. **

**Read and review, thank you all! xx**

**Chapter 29- Reprise. **

'When is she coming back?' Nadir asked, taking the seat closest to the fire. The cold air was still around, it was still winter and he had recently realised he was getting old. His bones ached.

'Tonight,' Erik said and Nadir shrugged, marvelling at how quickly time seemed to be passing them by.

'Are you sure this is a good idea?' he said, in an attempt to keep his optimism in tact.

'Yes,' Erik replied simply, without looking at the Persian. Instead he continued to stare out of the window as he had been doing on and off for the majority of the morning. Nadir often wondered what Erik was thinking about, occasionally he had made guesses or assumptions. He was usually far off the mark but this time his guess was accurate. He was thinking of Christine.

'Erik,' Nadir said, after a long silence.

Erik turned himself slowly to face Nadir. For a man who needed very few hours sleep, Nadir noted, Erik looked incredibly tired. There was a darkening circle under his left eye and for the first time ever there were signs of age across the phantom's dark face. Lines near his eyes and on the visible part of his forehead.

This was not a content man.

'Yes?' Erik said, quietly.

'Is the Opera all that this is about?' he asked, instantly regretting the question. Nadir, he thought to himself, you really do need to learn to think more carefully about how you speak to Erik.

Unbelievably Erik flashed a quick smile, which vanished as rapidly as it had appeared.

'Yes,' he said simply and rubbed his eye in an almost childlike gesture. 'No…' he seemed to correct himself. 'I need her for the opera… I do… but this is mostly about the fact that a woman of her talent should never be scrubbing another person's floors.'

'Do you love her?' Nadir asked before his brain could stop his mouth. Nadir expected the worst and almost closed his eyes in preparation for it.

'No,' Erik replied, glaring at the Persian. 'Daroga stop questioning me.'

'It's just that… well, in honesty, its _Christine_…'

'I am aware of that, thank you,'

Nadir sighed.

'Why do you find it so difficult to believe that I have altruistic bones in my body?'

'Because you don't,' Nadir said simply, feeling a compelling urge within him to start backing towards the door. Now was probably a good time to head back north to check on the new opera house.

Erik raised his eyebrows.

'It's hardly altruistic Erik,' Nadir said, swallowing the nervous mass that swelled in his throat. 'You want her in _your_ opera… not someone else's.'

Erik grinned. 'Such a bright mind, Daroga,' A compliment.

'Then…'

'I don't believe that she should be cleaning floors…' Erik said, with a twisted smile curling his lips. 'That doesn't mean that I want some other man to profit from her talent.'

Nadir shook his head.

Erik's eyes hardened. 'Do you judge me Daroga?' his voice was edged with annoyance.

'How could I judge you?' Nadir said, looking at his friend. 'You saved me.'

'You have repaid that debt a thousand times gone, Daroga,' Erik said.

'Yet I feel I can _never_ repay you,' Nadir looked at his hands.

'You're no slave to me, Nadir, you have nothing left to settle,'

'Perhaps I think I need to save your life too… before we are truly even,'

Erik frowned. 'Have you not already saved my life on more than one occasion?'

Nadir shook his head slowly from side to side and stood from his seat, turning to leave. He could feel Erik's confusion, he knew the way it felt, it was so distinctive when it was Erik's because it was an emotion the Frenchman rarely had. When Nadir reached the door he turned to face Erik, who was staring at him.

'To save your life Erik, a person must truly save your soul,' And with that he left the room, leaving Erik to ponder his psyche.

* * *

The woman was beautiful, that much was true, with her long flowing blonde hair which smelled of apple and look like gold. She had soft blue eyes, not striking, but inviting. Her skin was the colour of a light pink rose and felt equally as soft… her skin was inviting too. It was inviting him to touch her.

As he did, gently, she gasped and pushed her body towards his. He grabbed her thighs, firmly, pulled her close, stopped himself from tearing viciously at her clothes. Instead, he resisted, and stroked the thigh beneath his hand.

His passion was there, it was full and strong, it swelled him inside but his passion was not for this nameless woman now lying flat on her back on his silk sheets. His passion belonged to a woman he had not seen in years, a woman he missed with every ragged breath he took.

The woman's soft eyes beckoned him to join her, she called his name but still, he could not remember hers. He followed the sound of her voice, climbed onto her and began to take her clothes off. He felt nothing emotional for this person, sprawled beneath him. He felt nothing as his hands removed every last piece of her dying dignity and as he took what his body needed he felt nothing more… in fact, he felt less.

He lost the respect he had for her and he lost the wonder of her beauty. He lost it all in the last thrusts he took.

It was all gone and he hoped that after he kicked her out of his bed that he would never see her devil eyes again.

* * *

Fiona smiled as she took one last glance at the sleeping Joshua, breathing lightly, before she gently clicked his bedroom door shut. She tiptoed down the hallway to the music room where she knew that she would find her husband. She knew that he was angry, Chrissie had not appeared for her lesson and no doubt Erik was losing faith in her ability to perform in the opera.

Fiona knew that he should not lose his faith. Something about Chrissie was telling her that Erik had no reason to lose faith. Erik had said himself that she had been ill when she left from her last lesson. Fiona was sure that Chrissie was still ill and taking much needed bed rest.

As she was about to push the door to the music room open she stopped. Erik was playing the piano, as he often did, but it sounded so different it sounded… sad and he was singing so quietly that she had to strain to hear him.

'… _and now how you've repaid me… denied me and betrayed me… he was bound to love you… when he heard you sing…_'

Fiona leaned against the wall, eyes misted as she listened to the tone in his voice, the tone she was sure she had never heard before. She thought that perhaps the song was in his opera but the emotion… where had the emotion sprung from… how had he found his way inside the music so much that it made his voice vibrate. It had lost the power she was used to, it had lost the force and passion and it was all replaced with what sounded so much like heart break. She wondered if he was thinking of his first wife, she wondered so often if he was thinking of his Christine. Fiona pushed herself from the wall, felt clamps on her heart as she walked away from the room, leaving him to the world he had fallen into.

She would talk to him later.

She hoped.


	30. What the Butler Knew

**A/N: Wow, thank you for the kind reviews! I hope you all like this chapter.**

**Don't worry, I'm not losing interest in this! I've just had a minor block!**

**Unedited,**

**Read and review!**

**Chapter 30- What the Butler Knew.**

It was Friday morning and her feet ached after the long walk back to Erik's home. It was early morning, so early that the birds were still sleeping and the sky was still dark. The mist gushed out in front of her face as her warm breath hit the icy air and she tried desperately to suck it back in. Her cold was clearing but she felt no better.

She had missed her lesson and she knew that Erik would be furious. Christine knew from experience that a furious Erik was so much more damaging than an angry Michael Bailey and she wondered why she had not struggled to come to her lesson. Still, she could not answer that for herself.

Her hands were aching as she stepped in to the servant quarters, when she found the courage to look down at them she saw that they were tinged with a light blue. The room was warm and she was relieved to see that the fire was still glowing in the centre of the room. She tiptoed quietly over to it and shrugged off her shawl, then knelt by the logs and rubbed her hands together, willing the blood to flow back into them.

'Cold out?'

Christine jumped and turned around to face James. 'Do you make a habit of sneaking up on people?'

'Do you make a habit of arriving three hours early for your shift?' James retorted and took a seat on the settee behind her. He was already dressed in his work clothes, a suit which was navy blue in colour and had a deep maroon trim. Christine's uniform was black with a maroon trim and she wondered if Erik Valesk now had a coat of arms, granted by the queen. Were blue, black and maroon colours of Erik's seal?

Christine knew that they probably were, though in her few days in the house she had never seen a coat of arms hanging on the wall.

'I couldn't sleep,' she said softly, still rubbing her hands desperately over the fire.

'Why not?' James asked and Christine felt dread creep through her bones. There was something about James that one second could make her so at ease and the next have her sitting on a knife edge. Yet when she looked at him, as she did now, his features were so soft, his eyes seemed so kind, his mannerisms so warm, that she wanted to tell him everything. Christine wanted to confess everything to this man she had known for less than a week.

She couldn't.

'I'm not sure,' she lied and he shrugged and wandered back into the kitchen. When he returned he was holding a cup of water. He held it out and Christine took it from him carefully.

It was warm.

She looked at him with soft eyes and somehow found a smile. 'Thank you,'

'Where are your gloves?' he asked, sitting down again. She shrugged causing him to frown. 'You do have some gloves, don't you?'

Christine thought about lying, about telling him that she had lost them and had not had chance to find another pair, but she knew that James would see through it so she shook her head.

'I will find you a pair,' he said simply. 'Can I ask you why you don't have any gloves?'

'I don't know,' another lie and James stared at her. Take your eyes away from me, she thought, please don't look at me.

Instead of speaking James got onto his knees next to her and reached out, taking her hands in his. She resisted the urge to flinch away, her heart knowing that he was not going to hurt her, somehow knowing that James would hurt no one. He held her hands in his over the fire, rubbed them softly, his warmth seeping into her skin and slowly heating her hands.

She looked at their hands, fixed together over the amber glows of the fire, then she looked at him, she looked into his eyes and she felt the sigh escape before she could stop it.

'Chrissie…' he said gently.

'Please don't,' Christine murmured. James shook his head and for a reason unbeknown to herself, she felt silently ashamed. Perhaps it was the lies.

'Tell me,' His voice was tender and welcoming.

'I…'

'How can I help if you don't tell me?' he asked and his logic seemed so perfect that Christine felt another brick in her wall fall away.

'You can't help me,' she said quietly.

'I can't even try if you don't let me,' James continued to hold her hands but he had stopped rubbing them, they were warm now.

Christine felt the tears sting her eyes. 'James…' she whispered, her eyes closed and squeezed a tear from under it's lids. James moved his hand and she felt him wipe it away. She wondered why she felt so comfortable with the feeling of his hand on her face.

'Everything will be alright,' he soothed.

'I don't think it will,' she said softly, opening her eyes to look at him bathed in the low light of the fire. 'How long have you worked here James?' she asked.

James shrugged. 'I don't know… many years,' he said, she could feel his eyes exploring her face for clues.

'And you like it?' she asked.

'I do,'

'How long have the Valesks been married?' she asked, the sentence insulting her heart.

James frowned. 'I'm not sure,' he replied. 'Around five years, I think.'

'And Joshua…'

'Was from Monsieur Valesks first marriage,' James said.

Christine let the low laugh escape. 'He was married before?'

'Yes,' James said. 'His wife died in childbirth.'

'Did he tell you that?'

'He tells me nothing, Chrissie,' James shrugged.

'Then who told you?' she asked, watching the confusion on James face.

'Nadir did,'

'They have been friends for a long time, yes?' Christine asked, already knowing the answer.

'Yes,'

'Did he tell you what Erik's wife's name was?' she asked, feeling a lump swell in her throat.

'Christine,' he said, staring at her.

'And…' she said quietly. 'What was her profession?'

'She was a singer,' he said, keeping his eyes fixed on her.

'Not a maid?' she asked.

'No…' James said, his face creased into deeper lines as he looked at her.

'What shall I sing for you James?' she asked quietly.

'Christine?' he said, letting go of her hands and leaning back to look at her.

'Yes?'

'I don't understand…' he said, his voice broken in bursts of confusion. He looked at him, felt sorry for him but the need to tell him, anyone, was too much now.

'I will tell you all I can,' she said, looking down to her hands. 'But you can never tell another soul.'

He looked at her. 'I won't,'

'Promise me,' she said firmly, eyes now fixed on his.

'I promise,'

'My name is Christine de Chagny,' she said quietly. When it came from her mouth is came as a confession. 'Formerly Christine Daae, I was married to La Vicomte Raoul de Chagny in Paris many years ago. Joshua is my son. Erik Valesk was my friend.'

'Not your husband?' James asked.

'No,' she said. 'Though maybe he should have been.'

She felt her heart tense in her chest and she placed her hand gently over it.

'Then why are you here?'

'Raoul was murdered…' she whispered, feeling her throat close. 'And I was forced to run, for my own life and for my sons.'

'What happened?'

'I took Joshua, who was a baby at the time… to the only man I knew who could possibly save him,'

'Valesk,' James said quietly and Christine nodded in response.

'He was living in Egypt at the time,' she said softly. 'You see… Erik was in love with me and… I couldn't be with him… I was promised to Raoul,' she lied. 'He felt betrayed by me and so… well, he was reluctant to take Joshua.'

'But he did,'

'Yes, he did,' she said. 'And he has raised him well.'

'So what happened to you?' he asked.

'I ran,' she said simply, feeling the tears fall down her cheeks. 'I ran long and fast, I lived on the streets until I was found by Deborah Bailey.' Christine closed her eyes. 'I have worked there since and by coincidence, I was hired by Madame Valesk.'

'Coincidence?' he asked. 'I don't believe in coincidences… but I do believe in fate.'

'Erik hates me, James,' she said quietly.

'I'm sure that's not true,' he said softly, the soothing in his voice had returned, it had replaced his shock.

'It is,' she said. 'And because Joshua thinks that I have died…'

James interrupted. 'You can't tell him who you are,' Christine nodded, shaking a tear from her jaw.

'Erik has me performing in the opera,' she whispered.

'His new opera?' James asked, surprised.

'Yes,'

'Then he must like you,' James said simply.

'No,' Christine shrugged. 'He needs me… and in this case, I need him.'

'I knew there was something different about you, Chrissi… Christine…' he corrected.

'I think you should still call me Chrissie,' she said with a small smile. 'It will stop there being any 'slip ups''

'I want to know my son,' she said quietly, no longer able to conceal her true heartbreak. Before she knew what was happened James had reached across and pulled her into his strong arms. They were wrapped around her tightly and she felt comforted enough to lay her head gently against his hard chest, and cry the years of pain that had been building inside her.


	31. In the Wake of Revelations

**A/N: Sorry for the slow update, I will try to update again tomorrow but no promises. Thank you for the reviews, yet again! They are wonderful!**

**Let me know your thoughts on this chapter. I hope everyone is well**

**RR**

**Chapter 31- In the Wake of Revelations. **

James walked through to the hallway and smiled at the approaching Fiona Valesk. Her beauty never ceased to amaze him, she had bright green eyes, the same shade as emerald though, if possible, they seemed to sparkle more. Her hair was dark and shoulder length, always gleaming in the light and so well kept.

James often thought that she looked much like a renaissance painting, with all the elegance and grace, only she seemed so much lighter.

'Hello James,' she said, with an inviting smile. He dipped his head in a slight bow to show his respect and returned her smile.

'Good morning, Madame,' he said, standing straight. He knew that Fiona Valesk liked him and that she had liked him since the day they had met. They shared a common interest in art and all things beautiful and after a few months had developed a friendship. Well, as close a friendship as a servant and his mistress can ever have, he supposed.

'How are you today?' She asked, as she signalled for him to walk through the house with her.

He followed obediently, as he always did, 'I'm very well, thank you,' he smiled at her. 'How are you?'

'Enjoying the sunshine... despite the cold,' Fiona said and looked down the corridor. She stopped walking as Erik Valesk approached them and James saw her eyes twinkle gently for her husband. His stomach moved like the ocean as he watched his master draw nearer. When he was with in a few feet James stepped away. He had been a butler for long enough to know how to respond. He needed to show enough respect for the Valesk's to move out of relative ear shot but still be close enough to be given instruction. After all, neither Madame nor Monsieur Valesk had yet dismissed him.

James looked at the glow in his master's eyes and realised very quickly that Erik Valesk did not look the picture of a happy man.

He watched, as discretely as possible, as Monsieur Valesk took Fiona's arm and pulled her gently to one side. James noted that Valesk was commanding as he always was but in no way did his grip on his wife's arm cause her any pain. In fact, rather than look frightened, Fiona Valesk looked almost annoyed at the gesture. James stayed back but listened.

'Where is the new maid?'

'What on earth has come over you, Erik?' Fiona said, scowling up at her husband, who towered over her. 'The new maid has a name... you know full well she does.'

James stared, there was no one else he knew that could speak to Monsieur Valesk in that tone.

'Well?' Valesk asked, letting go of Madame Valesk's arm. She brushed it with the back of her hand.

'I don't know,' she said honestly as she shook her head at him. She turned to James who lifted his eyebrows as if he had not heard a word of their conversation. 'James?'

'Yes, Madame?' he asked, stepping forward again so that he was in front of the couple.

'Have you seen Chrissie today?' she asked and James glanced sideways at the imposing shape of Valesk.

'I was about to tell you, Madame,' he said quietly. 'That I insisted she remain in bed until she was feeling better. In fact,' he continued. 'She was early for her shift but she looked so dreadful that I sent her back to her room for some well deserved rest.'

Fiona Valesk turned to her husband and smiled. 'You see?' she said. 'She is still ill... you're terrible today.'

James saw the look of anger flash over Erik Valesk's eyes and thought for a moment that he would throttle his own wife but instead his master's eyes drifted on to James and settled there, the blue of them drawing him into their trap.

'When she wakes will you escort her to the music room?' he asked, politely, but James had learnt enough about Valesk to know that he was furious, though he didn't understand quite enough to know with whom.

* * *

Nadir was enjoying his quiet morning very much as he stretched his arms out above his head and squinted as the bright sun shone into his eyes. He turned his back to the window and allowed the heat to warm his back. As he turned James stepped into the breakfast room and closed the door behind him. From the look on his young friends face the Persian knew that his quiet morning was probably over. 

'James,' Nadir said, flashing him oneof his specialist grins. 'How can I help you?' Did he _really_ want to know?

James' eyes were full of something and Nadir looked at them carefully, as he approached, in an attempt to fathom what it was.

'Why didn't you tell me?' he asked, without taking a seat. Nadir had no clue what James was referring to, nor why it warranted the intrusion on his rarely found peace. Nadir didn't mind, not really, he had few friends and as James was one of the closest he knew that the interruption must be important.

Nadir frowned. 'Tell you what?'

'About Chrissie!' James growled, staring coolly at his friend.

'Ah...' Nadir leaned back in his seat and ran a thick hand over his dark face. He did not need to ask, _what about Chrissie_, it seemed obvious.

'Ah?' James said, and Nadir grimaced. 'Ah? That's all you have to say!'

'Well, at risk of sounding a bit harsh...' Nadir said punctuating with a shrug. 'It wasn't any of your business.'

James let out a huge sigh and collapsed onto the seat behind him. 'I know...' he said quietly and Nadir watched him carefully.

'Who told you?' he asked. James looked up at him.

Nadir knew who had told him. It had to have been Christine, Erik would no more divulge information to anyone than Nadir would deny his Persian roots. No chance, no possibility, no way.

'Chrissie told me,' James said. 'I just... I well, I can't get my mind around it.'

Nadir nodded. 'I admit it's a strange situation...'

'Poor girl,' James said and Nadir saw the thoughtfulness in his eyes.

'Poor girl?' Nadir stared at him.

'Yes,' James sighed. 'Don't you agree?'

'To an extent,' Nadir said, turning his attention to the spider crawling across the floor by his feet.

'After what she has been through?' James said and Nadir met his astonished glare with a shrug.

'These past few years must have been hard for her,' he said. 'But some might say what goes around comes around.'

'What do you mean?'

'Never mind,' Nadir said trapping the spider next to his foot.

'Don't you like her?' James asked, his attention firmly on Nadir.

Nadir glanced up at him. 'Not particularly,'

'Nadir, you are my friend and I love you but sometimes… I don't understand you,' James said quietly.

'James, it isn't me that you don't understand,' the Persian said. 'It's the history of the situation.'

Nadir knew that, although Christine had given James some of her secrets, there was very little likelihood of her telling him everything. Least of all about Erik being a masked murderer. Besides, James looked too calm for someone who had been told he was working for a maniac.

'Erik Valesk was… a lonely man back in France,' Nadir said watching as James leant forward to take in everything. 'When he met Christine he fell in love with her, doted on her, taught her to sing and play music and he taught her devotion.'

'That's nothing that Chrissie didn't tell me,' James said.

'Perhaps lonely is a bit of an understatement,' Nadir said as he searched for the right words. 'He was… he spent _all_ of his time alone in his home, composing music and feeling bitter at his er… short comings.'

James laughed. 'I find it hard to believe that Erik Valesk has short comings.'

'But you _know_ he does, James,' He shrugged. 'He still enjoys his solitude now. He was so in love with Christine it was heart breaking… he could not bear to be apart from her, the thought of her performing for anyone but him made his mind spin, he was jealous but still his love was true.'

'She told me that he loved her,' James said, sitting back in his chair.

'I don't think she emphasised the point quite enough,' he smiled ruefully. 'If I was to tell you he loved her with every inch of his soul I wouldn't quite be expressing the extent of it.' He looked at James who was still watching him closely. 'He spent a lot of time with her, she brought him out of himself, made him almost want to be in public and, quite frankly, she led him to believe that she loved him too.'

'Are you saying that she didn't?'

Nadir thought for a moment. 'No, I'm not telling you that she never loved him, I'm simply saying that it wasn't nearly as deep as she made him believe.' He said. 'She was courting another man at the time… his name was Raoul…'

'She was promised to him,' James said.

'Is that was she said?' Nadir asked. James replied with a nod. 'Then she lied. She was never promised to Raoul, she never had to marry him… there was no agreement… but she did and with that decision she crushed Erik's world.'

'I…'

'And then when she was in danger she ran to find him, left Joshua with him and ran away,'

'Do you blame her for that too?' James asked and Nadir could see his protective side clouding his judgement.

'Not at all,' Nadir said honestly. 'It was the safest thing for Joshua… though I think to this day that Erik still believes she did it to spite him.'

'She didn't,'

'No, she didn't,' Nadir agreed. 'She did it to save her son. If I was Erik I would have taken it as a compliment… unfortunately, on more than one level, I'm not Erik Valesk.'

'He loves Joshua though, you can tell,' James said, his eyes inquisitive.

Nadir nodded his agreement. 'Yes he does, very much,'

'And he… _hates_ Chrissie?'

'No,' Nadir said. 'I don't think he could ever hate her that isn't to say that he likes her particularly.'

'She lied to me?' James asked, searching Nadir for answers.

'I expect she had her reasons,' Nadir said. 'It's obvious that she feels close to you… don't be too hard on her,'

'Maybe you can take that advice,' James smiled.

'My loyalty lies with Erik… yours… well your only loyalty to him is as staff…'

'Nadir my friend,' James said, standing and resting a hand on the Persian's shoulder. 'You are a wiser man that I will ever be.'

* * *

'I knew he would want to see me,' Christine said, her heart pounding violently in her chest as she stood with James at the music room door. She glanced at it and swallowed hard. 

'You will be fine,' James said, reaching out and squeezing her hand gently. Christine didn't feel any need to flinch anymore. She had developed a trust and a respect for James that she thought she would never again feel. It was wonderful to have a friend.

'Thank you,' she whispered as he lifted his hand and turned to walk away.

'Anytime,' he said and left her standing alone.

She looked at the door and took a long, deep breath. She knocked gently and, after waiting a moment, she heard Erik call her in. As she entered the brightness of the room struck her, the sun was beaming in through the completely open windows and there was not a dark corner in sight.

'Come here,' Erik said and Christine obediently did. When she was standing opposite him he looked her up and down.

'Where were you yesterday?' he asked, his voice as cold as ice.

'I was…' she started.

'You worked,' he said, looking at her. 'After I specifically told you not to.'

'Erik you don't understand…'

'You don't deny it?' he asked, moving away from her towards the piano.

'No,' she said simply. 'I worked.'

'Why?' he asked.

'I needed to,'

'Didn't I tell you that you did _not_ need to?'

'How can you ever understand?' she said, feeling the sadness well back up inside her until she felt she would burst.

He glared. 'Then explain.'

'I… I'm sorry,' she murmured. What was the point in arguing?

Erik shrugged and sat down at the piano, opening the pages in front of him, he began to play. Without any instruction she recognised the music instantly and then she heard the cue. She opened her mouth and began to sing, closing her eyes and letting the sounds come out.

She sang the entire Aria before Erik stopped playing and she felt brave enough to open her eyes.

He was looking at her.

'That was…' he said quietly. 'Much better…' he nodded.

Christine gripped her stomach as the pain she had been experiencing all morning tore through her. She bent over clutching her stomach knowing it was too late to try to hide it from Erik.

'What's wrong?' he asked, standing but not moving towards her.

'Part of the illness…' she lied. 'It will pass.'

She glanced up at Erik as she straightened her body trying to prove her point. He was looking at her, he hadn't moved his eyes, but he did not looked concerned.

'See?' she said and he simply nodded.

'Shall we get you some fresh air?' he asked, moving past her and towards the door. 'I need to show you somewhere anyway.'

It didn't appear as if she had much of a choice.


	32. Her Majesty's Royal Theatre

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews for the last chapter- they are much appreciated. I will reply to all reviews individually later x**

**Read, enjoy, review, have a good day x**

**Chapter 32- Her Majesty's Royal Theatre**

They walked in silence. There was not a sound and barely even a breath between them. She didn't dare look at him, she walked so close she felt his arm brush against hers, instead of warming her it made her shiver. She fixed her eyes straight ahead, the morning was cool, the airwas thin but the sky was blue. So blue that even without looking sideways she could see his eyes.

He had simply said to wrap up warm and follow him. So Christine had done as she was told, struggled into her warmest coat, using the gloves that James had kindly given her and she followed.

In stony silence.

She knew where they were before they arrived. It was the West end of London and she knew that she was going to the theatre, she was going to see Erik's masterpiece and meet the rest of the cast. Inside her stomach turned, she was more nervous than she had been in months.

Erik stopped and turned to her. Now she had no choice, did she? She had to look at him. Her eyes moved from the brick wall in front of her face and focused onto him. He looked as immaculate as always, his black jacket crossed over him and buttoned tightly, it came down to his knees. He had a scarf underneath, wrapped around his neck, his trousers were black, as was his hat. It only emphasised the whiteness of his mask and the blue of his eyes.

'We're here,' he said as the doorman nodded to him and stood aside, pushing the door open for them. Erik put his hand out, gesturing for Christine to enter first. She swallowed her nerves and walked through to large wooden door. She found herself in a lobby fit for a queen, the floor was a sort of marble and the walls looked wooden. Erik was as much of a genius as she remembered. If the theatre's entrance way was anything to go by then the rest would be utterly magnificent.

She immediately felt as if she had come home.

The walls were singing to her.

She heard Erik thank the door man and then, to her surprise, exchange small talk with him, even ask him how his wife was. Things just kept changing around her. This was not the Erik she once knew, the Erik she knew was long gone and in his place this socialite. Christine stood still and waited for him to catch her up.

'Follow me,' he said simply and brushed past her. He walked through a side door and she stayed with him. The corridor was slim and cold, she felt a tingle along her spine and recognised it as anxiety. Ignoring the sensation that she should not be in there she walked on, following Erik to another door. He pushed it open slowly then turned to look at her.

Christine froze.

'Are you ready?' he asked.

Ready for what, she thought? 'Yes,' she said quietly. Erik nodded and walked through the door, holding it behind him so that she could follow. When she was through he let it drop and walked towards the curtain. It was then that Christine realised that she was back stage.

Before she knew it Erik had reached out and grabbed her hand firmly, almost dragging her through the curtain, as if she would not have gone voluntarily. She lurched forward, regained her balance, and followed him onto the stage. It wasn't until she was through the material that she heard the voices.

* * *

Antoinette Giry stared at the figures on her stage, Erik's eyes drifted over her as she gazed at them. She had changed, her hair was darker, almost black, it had lost it's unique sheen, her eyes seemed darker and sadder than she remembered. She was thinner, gaunt almost, and her clothes were tatty and looked old. 

She had changed but there was still a beauty to her that was captivating.

She had changed but there was no mistaking her.

She was Christine.

And she was standing next to Erik.

It seemed obvious to Antoinette that the poor girl had not been expecting an audience today, that Erik had not informed her of who would be at the theatre. Christine's dark eyes were wide in surprise, in shock. She was silent but astounded.

'Erik…' Antoinette said as she stepped towards her. She saw the darkness in his eyes. She wondered why he hadn't told her.

It was then that she heard the gasp from behind her. Antoinette turned as Meg ran across the stage. Erik stepped in front of Christine in an overly protective gesture and Antoinette reached out and grabbed her daughter's shoulders.

'Chris…' Meg began to say but Antoinette tugged on her shoulder hard, stopping her in her tracks. She saw Erik's face darken further as he looked at them.

'This is Chrissie…' he said coolly and stepped aside so that the dancers could see her. Christine looked uncomfortable, the confident girl that Antoinette remembered was not here before her now.

Meg's eyes were misted and fixed on her old friend.

'Nice to meet you, Chrissie,' Antoinette said, stepping forward and taking Christine's hands in hers. She allowed her own grey eyes to lock onto Christine's.

'Madame Giry,' she whispered as she bowed her head. 'I've missed you.'

Antoinette squeezed her hand gently. 'Are you our new singer?'

Christine responded with a subtle nod and Antoinette smiled.

'No better choice,' she said softly, reluctantly letting go of the younger woman's hands. She turned her attention to Erik who was standing tall, yet silent, to their side. 'No better choice,' she repeated, lifting her eyebrows at him.

She could tell that the smile she was received was forced.

'Yes,' he said, looking around at the dancers watching them. 'I thought that perhaps you and Meg would see her up to my office while I finish up some business in the meeting room?'

Antoinette saw the tear roll along Meg's cheek as she walked to her friend and took her by the hand. Christine smiled as she looked at her, followed her without question.

Antoinette looked into Erik's eyes. 'If I didn't know you so well,' she said quietly. 'I would think you were doing a nice thing.'

Erik smiled.

* * *

When they were out of ear shot of the people at the stage Christine turned to her friend and pulled her into a warm embrace and told her how much she missed her. The words were in muddled whisper, spoken into Meg's soft blonde hair, but they were meant from the bottom of Christine's broken heart. 

Meg pushed her away so that she was holding her at arms length. 'How can it be?' she said quietly. Christine smiled at her old friend, so beautiful, she thought.

'I'm here, it's really me,' she said and kissed Megs forehead.

'I thought…' Meg stuttered and caught her breath, shaking her head in disbelief. 'I thought that you were… I thought you were dead.'

'So did a lot of people,' Christine said as Meg took her hand and guided her up the staircase.

'Where have you been?' Meg asked and Christine felt a sigh burn her throat.

'Hiding,' she said simply and tried to force a smile for Meg.

'And now you're…'

'I'm a maid,'

Meg stopped and turned to look at her, her eyes misted with tears. 'For… _him_.'

'You say it like it's a bad thing,' Christine said, a chuckle escaping her lips.

'Isn't it?' Meg asked.

Christine shook her head and followed Meg through the large oak doors into a room with high ceilings. She closed the door carefully behind her.

'I'm not really a maid for him,' Christine said, after a long pause and then pulling her friend into another hug. 'I sing for him.'

'Haven't you always?' Meg asked, her blue eyes fixing onto her old friend.

'This is different…'

'How?'

'This time he is saving my life.'

'Christine…'

'You have to call me Chrissie…' Christine said quietly. 'As you did when we were young… it's important.'

Meg nodded in understanding.

'I can't even begin to tell you how good it is to see you, Meg,' Christine said, the smile on her lips was small but genuine, she was fighting her tears well.

'It's certainly going to take me some getting used to…'

'My being alive?' Christine said and almost felt her smile broaden.

Meg nodded again. 'Do you think they will follow us in here straight away?' she asked.

Christine sat down in the corner seat, feeling the quality of the material covering its cushion. She marvelled at the vastness of the room, as she was sure only a few before her had, and she was quietly in awe of the craftsmanship. _This_ was how she remembered Erik.

'I think that they will give us some time to catch up,' Christine said, waving Meg over to her. Meg ran quickly and pulled a chair up next to her. Megs smile was so radiant and bright, it was exactly as she remembered.

'Erik Valesk is not that thoughtful,' Meg said with a humph.

Christine looked at her friend and suddenly felt like a girl again. She felt youthful and almost happy.

'Don't you like him, Meg?' she asked.

'I don't dislike him…'

Christine found herself surprised at this, considering the past, but she felt a smile form on her lips. 'Then what do you think of him?'

'Honestly?' Meg asked.

Christine responded with a nod. 'Aren't we always?'

'Yes we are!' she exclaimed. 'Well, he is… the rudest man I have ever known but then suddenly… the most charming… but so cold, Chrissie… so very cold.'

Christine nodded.

'Yet sometimes… when he plays the piano or he shows the men their lines, well, there is simply something overwhelming about him.'

'Like you just can't stop listening?'

'Exactly,' Meg said, eyes wide as she spoke. 'And when he plays… when he plays he isn't cold, in fact, when he plays I wonder where the coldness disappears to. It's as if it was never there to begin with.'

Christine knew the feeling well. 'Anyway,' she said. 'What do we do with our minutes quiet time?'

'Quick…' Meg said, grinning through brimming tears. 'Tell me absolutely everything.'


	33. Variance

**A/N: I hope this chapter answers some questions... and raises a few more! Enjoy, RR- it gives me the will to write more!**

**Chapter 33- Variance **

Erik had left them alone for nearly two hours, instead he had spoken to Antoinette Giry and watched the dancers, killed time by going over certain points with the conductor. Something inside had told him that they deserved this alone time though he wasn't quite sure where that something had come from. Still, Christine seemed to appreciate it now. She had thanked him graciously and when he told her that he needed her to go with him she had given her friend a quick hug and followed him obediently.

Erik, in spite of his intellect, could not work out quite what Antoinette thought of the situation. The way she had looked when they had stepped onto the stage told him that all she could feel was happiness that Christine was alive. Antoinette's discretion was something he had always had, whether he asked for it or not, and so it seemed unnecessary to reiterate the importance of calling her Chrissie. However, usually not one to mince her words, she was surprisingly quiet on the subject when they had been alone at the side of the stage. He wasn't sure if he appreciated the silence or not.

No doubt she would let him know of her feelings soon enough.

Erik resolved, for the time being at least, that Antoinette seemed pleased that Christine would be singing the lead and he forced it to the back of his mind as he walked Christine through the halls of the theatre. It was not quite as intricate as the Opera Populair but it was as beautiful. Smaller, but beautiful.

Still, it never quite felt like home to him.

He glanced behind him at Christine who was still trying to avoid his eyes and still clutching her stomach. Definitely something he needed to keep his eye on. He wasn't quite sure if Christine thought him stupid now or if she just hoped that he hadn't noticed her pain. He _had_ noticed it and wasn't prepared to discard it as a symptom of her evaporating cold. After all, he rarely heard of symptoms of a head cold to manifest themselves in a person's stomach.

He walked through the rear doors into the backstage area and held one of them open for Christine to follow him through. She stepped past him and walked over to the centre of the room, then looked back at him.

'Thank you for…'

'Think nothing of it,' he said quickly, he did not want to hear her gratitude, he wanted to see it. He wanted it to show in her performance. 'Go through on to the stage, I'll meet you at the front.' And with that he turned and walked back through the doors behind him.

He moved briskly to the side of the stage and stood beside the curtain and hidden behind it he watched as she walked cautiously onto her platform. Erik had sent everyone home early and so the room was empty, he had turned down most of the gas lights, leaving enough just to light the centre of the stage and the corridor at the back of the room. Christine stood, centre stage, glowing in the ochre light, looking around her.

He watched as she stepped forward and looked into the orchestra pit, examined the front of the stage. His eyes followed her progress as she found the trapdoor, ran her foot over it and moved away. She walked to the front and looked at the gas lights lining the edge of the stage, she looked up at the balcony and then at the box to her right.

She looked at box five for a long time.

Erik took a breath and stepped out onto the stage with her, causing her to jump and spin around to face him. As he looked at her he saw the tear trickle along her cheek, making a path to her jaw.

'Do you think this will do?' he asked, as he stepped a little closer and he too looked out on the seats. It wasn't long before he was aware of her looking at him.

'Its perfect,' she murmured and he knew that she meant it. With that he moved away from her and down the steps at the side of the stage. He made his way carefully through the orchestra pit and found the piano.

Erik played.

Christine sang.

* * *

It was dark by the time they left the theatre and Christine was exhausted, the walk back to Erik's home seemed shorter than it had that morning and marginally more comfortable. She found herself stealing short glances in his direction but not once did she catch him looking at her. When they were approaching the driveway he stopped and turned to her. She swallowed hard as his eyes trained onto her face. 

'Come this way,' he said simply and instead of taking the front entrance he walked along the side of the house towards the servant's quarters. To Christine's surprise, instead of walking straight on, he took a deviated route through the brambles. She followed, without question, as they weaved their way through the trees and bushes, until Erik stopped again.

He looked at her and then pointed over her shoulder. She turned and she saw the back of the house and the back of her quarters.

'Christine…' he said quietly and her heart jumped. 'If you ever… if anything ever happens and you need to escape.' He paused as if searching her face for a response. 'If you find this path and followed the bricks on the floor it will take you through to a set of stables.'

Christine stared at him with a frown.

'Don't question me,' he said, obviously reading the look on her face. 'There are two horses there… they are both mine, one is a light brown, the other is white.'

Christine nodded, listening.

'Take either horse and run…'

'Does anyone else know?' she asked, watching the colour of his eyes darken.

'No,' he said simply. 'I tend to them, I feed them… no one else knows about this path or about the stables.'

'Not even your wife?'

Erik scowled. 'What reason would she have to escape?' he snarled, the comfort of their early walk vanishing quickly.

'I'm sorry… I…'

'It doesn't matter,' he said, stopping her from finishing her sentence. 'Just… remember this place.' And with that he turned around and walked back towards the house. Christine followed, mind overflowing with questions she was too nervous to ask.

When they got back to the front of the house he turned back to look at her.

'Go the back way,' he said coldly.

'I understand…' she said, after all, she was only the maid. What maid enters through the front door, she thought?

With that he turned his back on her and left her in the cold.

* * *

Fiona had watched through the window as her husband had walked up with Chrissie. She noted that they had not said a word to one another until they reached the door and then he had turned to her, said something, and walked away. She noted the look of dejection on the maid's face and she wondered what Erik had said to her to make her look so sad. 

She stood from her seat by the window and walked from the room and into the entrance way where she greeted her husband with a chaste kiss.

'How did it go?' she asked him as he removed his jacket and dumped it in James' arms.

'Better than I was expecting,' he said and took her hand gently. She followed him through to the dining room.

'Dinner should be ready soon,' she said, squeezing his hand in hers. It felt cold and for the first time in the years they had been married she felt that she didn't want to touch him. He was like ice.

He simply nodded and sat at the table. Fiona was worried, he didn't seem himself. It wasn't as if she didn't know what he could be like, generally she would simply consider this one of his moods and leave him alone for an hour but this was different. He was no quieter than usual, nor was he cooler with her, but there was something not right.

She looked at him carefully, tilting her head to the side, studying his face. He looked at her and she could see that he was trying to force a smile. She did not mind that he did not smile much, it was something she had become accustomed to, but he was so different. His eyes were such a dark shade they were almost black at the edges and she frowned at him.

'Whats the matter?' she asked, placing her hand tenderly on his cheek.

'Nothing,' he said simply without reacting to her touch or, really, to her words.

'Erik…' she said but his stare stopped her.

'I said…' he took a breath. 'That there is nothing wrong.'

She nodded, took her hand away from his face, and left him alone.

She didn't think that she would ever understand the man she had married.


	34. Friendships

**A/N: Short chapter, accept my apologies. Thank you all of you who are reading and those, in particular, who are reviewing. You've made my pretty crappy week a bit easier!**

**I hope you like this chapter. RR x**

**Chapter 34- Friendships **

James had a warm drink waiting for her when she walked in. He knew that she would go for a walk around the garden before she came in and, after leaving Valesk in the hallway, he had come back and boiled a pot on the stove straight away.. He smiled kindly and held it out for her as she sat down. When she took the cup from him, her fingers brushed against his, and he felt instantly embarrassed, though he wasn't sure why. She returned his smile, her cheeks red from the bluster of the rising wind, he noted that despite the gloves he had given her, her fingers with still cold.

'Here,' he said, and stood from the seat closest to the fire. 'Sit closer to the fire.'

She didn't need to be told twice, she slid past him as he sat on the long settee, and sat in the corner, turning her body towards the fire place.

'How did it go?' he asked. 'I saw you leave… I guessed he was probably taking you to the theatre.'

Christine nodded at him, confirming his guess, and then she shrugged. 'It was not too bad,' she said quietly, holding the cup in both hands to warm them.

'Was he amicable?' James asked, barely able to contain his brimming curiosity.

'Amicable by whose standards?' she asked and flashed him a grin.

'By his own,' James said, returning her smile and leaning forward to speak to her.

Or to be close to her… he wasn't quite sure.

'By his own standards he was amicable,' she replied and she too leaned forward. He smelled the apple of her hair and swallowed hard. Perhaps he shouldn't sit so close.

'I'm glad it went well,' he said, standing from his seat and moving away. 'Chrissie…' he began and stopped.

When he turned around she was looking up at him, deep brown eyes focused intently on him.

'Why did you lie to me?' he blurted and she frowned.

'Lie to you?' she asked and James wished he could reach out and take the words back. He remembered what Nadir said… _she must have her reasons…_ and as he looked at the look in Christine's eyes he wondered why he hadn't listened.

'About… er… Raoul…' he muttered, feeling the blush spread across his cheeks. 'You said… well, you said that you were promised to him.'

Christine stared.

'Nadir said that you weren't,'

'You spoke to Nadir about me?' she asked and James tried to work out if she was angry, hurt or… he didn't know, he couldn't tell and instead he nodded, looking shameful and sorry, in her direction. 'Why?' she asked.

'I was angry… that… that he hadn't told me,' James said, quietly, watching the light reflect in Christine's eyes. He suddenly got the feeling that he was concentrating too hard on her face and blinked quickly, diverting his eyes slightly. His heart was pounding and inside he prayed that he did not look as nervous as he felt.

'He had no reason to tell you,'

'I'm sorry…' He stepped back towards her. 'I know I shouldn't have said anything… I just wanted to understand better.'

'Then you should have asked me,' she said simply and James knew that she was right. But his anger at Nadir had been pure and direct. Nadir was supposed to be his friend, his closest friend, and the fact that he hadn't told him something that could potentially affect all of them had hurt him.

He nodded. 'I know.'

Christine's eyes softened as she looked at him and she smiled softly. 'He's right, I wasn't promised to Raoul,'

'Then why say that you were?' he asked, looking down at her, watching her carefully.

'I didn't want you to think any less of me,' she said quietly, averting her eyes away from his face. He moved closer, tried to catch her eyes.

'I wouldn't… I don't…' he said. 'Sometimes things just aren't meant to be.'

She nodded. 'I need to go to my room,' she said starting to move past him but as she did pain shot through her stomach and she leaned forward, trying to hide it from James but instead she fell towards him. He reached out with both hands and caught her.

She was resting against his chest, somehow he managed to regain his own balance and he glanced down at her.

'What was that?' he asked.

'Stomach ache,' she murmured.

'I'll say…' His eyes shone with concern.

It was then that she realised their closeness, that she was totally reliant on his body, that she had almost her full weight against him… she could feel his breath in her hair. They stood still for a moment, Christine knew that James had come to the same realisation very quickly.

'I'm fine,' she muttered and pushed the heels of her hands half heartedly against his chest. Instead of pushing herself away though, because his grip was tight, she succeeded in moving him closer.

'Are you sure?' It came as a whisper.

She nodded.

'Shall I let you go?' he asked.

Christine looked into his soft eyes. 'No,' she said softly.

* * *

Fiona had been concerned about Erik's behaviour and the look of hurt on Chrissie's face when her husband had moved away. She decided, after he had retired to his study, to walk to the servants quarters and make sure that she was not feeling too upset. Fiona knew only too well how Erik could be, particularly for someone who had not yet had the chance to get used to his tempers and his strange behaviour. 

Charming as he could be, he was also a frightening man, and his tone could reduce the strongest women to tears.

As she approached the small cottage she noticed that their were two shadows moving around. Instead of barging in she simply glanced through the window. To her surprise she found Chrissie and James in an embrace in the centre of the room. She watched for a moment, unable to hear what they were saying, and waited for them to part.

They didn't.

They simply stood their, linked together. James was stroking her hair and she was tucked into his chest. They looked like a married couple who had been together for years. Their comfort with one another was obvious, even from the distance of the window. She was not really sure what to make of it and so moved away slowly deciding to check with her again later when she was in a less compromising position.

She chastised herself for thinking that of the situation. It could merely be the fact that Chrissie had been so ill and looked so upset when she arrived back at the house that James had simply comforted her as any friend would. Still, there was something about the scene that unsettled her, though she was not sure what it was.

Yet.


	35. Aggressive Behaviour

**A/N: Again I mist reiterate my thanks for all of the support on this story. Thank you all!**

**RR**

'_I don't want you to give it all up  
And leave your own life collecting dust  
And I don't want you to feel sorry for me  
You never gave us a chance to be  
And I don't need you to be by my side  
To tell me that everything's alright  
I just wanted you to tell me the truth  
You know I'd do that for you' – 'Why are you running away?' Hoobastank.  
_

**Chapter 35- Aggressive Behaviour**

As Erik reached the bottom of the staircase he saw Fiona's shadow approaching from the dining room. Instead of moving towards her, he leaned against the banister, and waited patiently for her to approach him. When she did he forced a smile to his face.

'Where have you been?' he asked, though he already knew. Even his wife did not trust him not to upset the _maid_.

'I went out to see if Chrissie was feeling better,' she replied, lying with ease. He felt his stomach turn.

'And is she?' he asked, aware that his voice was turning cooler but unable to stop it.

'I don't know,' she replied.

'Why lie to me?' he asked, tilting his head to the side. He was patronising her and he saw the scowl cross her eyes and disappear quickly.

'Lie to you about what?' she asked. Saccharin sweet.

'About your reason for checking in on Chri…' he stopped, and thought. 'Chrissie.' He finished the sentence but the name hurt his mouth, made the skin burn, her name was not _Chrissie_, it was _Christine_.

'Fine,' Fiona said, eyes firmly on his as she shrugged her shoulders. 'It looked like you had upset her, I was going to make sure that you hadn't tempted her to quit.'

'And what were the results of your investigation?' he asked, pushing himself away from the rail so that he was standing inches from his wife.

'I didn't manage to speak to her,' she said, holding her ground. Erik found her the most difficult person to intimidate.

'Why not?' he demanded. 'Wasn't she there?'

'She was there…' she looked at him thoughtfully.

'Then..?' he left the question unsaid, instead he dragged out the word and lifted his eyebrows, waiting for her to fill the rest in.

'She was busy,' she said.

'Busy doing what?'

'Erik, she was in her own quarters I can't go around interrupting her,' Fiona said and turned to walk away from him. He felt the anger growing in his stomach and fought it back down.

'Of course you can,' he said sharply. 'You own it.'

'No,' she said as she began to move away. '_You_ own it.'

Erik had had enough. He leapt in front of her and leaned down so that his nose was close to hers. She flinched slightly but did not give her stand away, instead she stared at him, dead in the eyes, and held his unmoving gaze.

'But you don't own me,' she said.

'No,' he said, laughing wickedly as he stepped back. 'I don't suppose that I do… but I _do_ own her.' The words developed as a snarl. 'So tell me what she was so busy doing that meant you, her boss, felt that you could not interrupt it.'

Fiona looked at him, the first time her eyes had been so hard. 'She was embracing James.'

Erik stared, jaw bunched tightly in a knot, at his wife. 'Why? He said through clenched teeth.

'I don't know,' she said, watching him like he was some sort of a child. 'I didn't get chance to ask.'

'And that's all they were doing?' he said, motionless.

'Yes,' Fiona replied.

Erik turned away from her, showing her the full of his back as he walked through to the dining room. He expected her to leave him in peace, to give him his space, as she usually did when he looked angry.

But sometimes she surprised him.

'Why?' she asked, and he turned slowly to see her standing in the door way. Her arms were by her side, her dark hair was resting on her slender shoulders and her green eyes were fixed solidly on him.

'Why what?' he snapped.

Her eyes softened. 'Why do you resent me so much?' her voice was quiet, almost inaudible.

'Resent you?' he asked, trying to sound firm but he knew his voice was losing its bite.

'Yes,'

'I don't,' unsure how to respond he took a cautious step in her direction.

'But you do, Erik,' she said and with the words a warm tear trickled slowly past her nose.

'No…' he said, his voice had lost its edge completely and was now replaced with softness. He wasn't sure where the tone had come from but it was there and strangely his chest ached.

She shook her head and looked at her feet. 'I don't seem to be able to do any right anymore.'

He looked at her, realising that she was weakest he had ever seen her and also realising that he did not feel the urge to pounce on it. Is this what guilt felt like?

He walked towards her, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her into his embrace. She eased herself into it, letting herself rest against him.

'I don't resent you,' he whispered into her hair. 'How could I?'

'I don't know,' she muttered into his chest.

'I couldn't…' He kissed her forehead and held her carefully at arms length. 'You've helped me and loved me… how could I resent the one woman that has done that for me unconditionally?'

She looked at him, eyes red around the edges and smile. 'You've been cold…' she whispered. 'So much colder than usual.'

'I'm sorry,' the apology was genuine. The last thing he really wanted to do was hurt this woman, this woman he cared for so deeply, this woman that had unquestioningly accepted the mask on his face and the tempers he had.

She nodded. 'Forgiven,' she said quietly and kissed him gently. He felt the familiar sensation of closeness and kissed her back, then pulled her into a deeper embrace.

When they parted her tears had dried and though she didn't look happy she did look better. He smiled briefly and let her out of his arms.

'Why don't you have Claire draw you a bath?' he asked.

'I think I will,' she said quietly.

'Shall I ring for her?' he asked, walking towards the bell above the fire place.

'No, no…' she said. 'She is upstairs, I will go up to her and then lie on the bed for a while.'

'Are you feeling better?' he asked.

'Much,'

'Enjoy your bath,' he said and watched her walk away.

* * *

James let go of Christine reluctantly and when she moved herself away from him he could not take his eyes away from her. It amazed him that sometimes she could seem so strong and at other so completely vulnerable. He accepted the strength of some women and the vulnerability of others but never before had he met with such extremes in _one_ woman. 

She smiled at him, appreciating his comfort no doubt. When they had been clenched together he had gently told her that he thought that she was beautiful, to which she had replied that she was not, that she was no longer beautiful, she was no longer the person she liked to remember in her dreams. She had told him that she appreciated his friendship and he knew that that was all she saw him as and it was the only relationship they would… or could… ever have.

To be with Christine, this strong and intelligent woman, would have been what his life needed and what he had always lived for. A woman who could pride herself on her own intellect as well as her husband's.

But James understood.

Christine was about to become the most famous woman in London. Christine was aristocracy. Christine was simply above his station and like Fiona Valesk the only thing they would ever be was friends.

As he watched her walk into her room and click the door shut behind her he heard to door to the front of the cottage open. He turned around, not quickly enough, and found himself with Erik Valesk's powerful hands around his throat. He choked hard and moved his hands up in an attempt to loosen his master's grip. He was unsuccessful.

'Where is she?' Valesk growled, his grip tightening with every word. James shook his head as best he could because the grasp on him was so tight that words could not force themselves out.

He stared into the steely blue- gold of Erik Valesk's eyes and waited to pass out but, before his body had chance to end the torture, Valesk dropped him onto the settee. James collapsed down with a thud and reached for his neck. He rubbed it gently and stared up at the shadowed figure of his angry boss.

'Who?' James said swallowing painfully.

'Chrissie…' he snarled. 'Where is she?'

'In her room…' James managed with a cough.

'Are you courting her?' he asked. His eyes were so intense that James felt a shiver creep along his spine.

'No, sir,' James murmured. 'No.'

'Then why were you holding her?' he barked.

'She is going to hear you,' James said as quietly as he could.

'Is that what I asked you?' Valesk retorted.

James shook his head, finally beginning to catch his breath. 'She was upset…'

'Liar!'

'No… no…' James said, fear gripping him. 'She… she was in pain.'

Erik Valesk's eyes drifted over him, as if he was deciding if he believed him or not, and then he reached down and pulled James back to his feet.

'What sort of pain?' he asked, as James straightened his jacket.

'Stomach, I think,' James watched as Valesk glanced over his shoulder at her bedroom door.

'Is she alright now?' he asked, turning his back on James and staring at her door.

'I think so,' James replied, honestly.

'And you aren't courting her?' he asked again as he turned back around to face him.

James shook his head.

'Do you want to?' Valesk asked, he too shaking his head, as if in despair. He moved towards the door and James' eyes followed him carefully.

'Who wouldn't, sir?' he asked and Valesk sighed as he reached the door.

'Its not worth your life to even consider it,' Erik Valesk said coldly as he stepped out of the front door.

'She doesn't want me anyway,' James said.

Valesk looked back over his shoulder but stood still. 'Why do you say that?' he asked.

'Because she says your name in her sleep,' James replied and watched as Erik Valesk disappeared out of the door.


	36. Fathers Son

**A/N: Right, this is looking positive. Removed virus and now it looks like I'm functioning again. Anyway, thank you for all of the great reviews for the last couple of chapters. I hope you like this one.**

**RR**

'_Heart over mind,_

_Yes, I'm,_

_My fathers son,_

_I live my life,_

_Just like,_

_My fathers done'- Connor Reeves_

**Chapter 36- Fathers Son.**

Erik pushed the palm of his hand hard against the door to the kitchen, sending the door flying open with a thud as it hit the counter behind it. He grabbed the handle and threw it shut behind him before skulking moodily through to the dining area. He walked to the window and stared out over his court yard, raising his hands to his temples in an attempt to rub away his throbbing headache. He had been there for nearly five minutes before he realised that he was not entirely alone in the room. He turned around slowly and found himself looking at the small shape of Joshua standing nervously in the doorway.

The sleeves of Joshua's woollen jumper were long and pulled down so that they almost covered his small hands. He looked timid, standing there on the border of the hallway and the dining room, as if he wasn't sure which way to go. Since when has he been afraid of me, Erik thought, as he stared at him?

'What?' He asked sharply, causing Joshua to blink.

Joshua moved from foot to foot. 'I was just going to ask if there was anything wrong,' he said quietly.

'There's nothing wrong,' Erik said with a shrug.

'Then why are you so angry with me?'

Erik's heart sank. 'I'm not angry with you,' he swallowed hard.

'You seem it,' Joshua's voice was quiet, apologetic even, and Erik felt his heart begin to ache.

'I'm sorry,' Erik felt himself murmur.

He didn't know where this man had come from. This man who cared for people, who cared for a woman and a child, who had even learnt to care for himself.

Joshua still stood there, making no move towards the hallway nor the dining room, and making no reference to the apology. Erik fought hard against the inner man who felt the need to run away. He pulled a chair out from under the table and sat down facing Joshua. With a gentle tilt and nod of his head he beckoned the child towards him.

Joshua stood for a moment, unmoving, as if wondering what he should do. Instead of being angry, as he would have been in the past, Erik felt dejected and held his hand out. Needing no more invitation, Joshua ran into the room and leapt into Erik's arms, almost knocking him backwards from the seat. Joshua affectionately wrapped his arms around Erik's neck and kissed his forehead, as any normal child would with their father. Erik squeezed him back and then sat him more comfortably on his knee.

Joshua grinned. 'Where have you been?'

'I was at the theatre today,' Erik replied, rubbing Joshua's back in a gesture his own father had once taught him. _Many_ years ago. One of his few fond childhood memories.

'You never take me with you,' Joshua frowned.

'I take you to the shows,'

His frowned deepened. 'Why can't I go and see the rehearsal?'

'Because the cast need to concentrate,' Erik said. 'And you would just be a distraction.'

'Why would I?'

Erik shrugged. 'A roomful of young women and a cute young boy...' Erik sighed dramatically. 'They would be pulling your cheeks all over the place.'

Joshua giggled and Erik tried to, but could not, stop the smile from forming on his face.

'Papa,' he said. 'I really would like to go.'

'I know but... when you're a bit older.' Erik compromised.

'How old do I have to be?' Joshua stared defiantly.

'You can go in a few years,'

'What is the difference between going in a few years and going now?' Joshua said with ridiculously sound logic.

Erik groaned inwardly but kept his face as expressionless as he could. Of course Joshua was right, there was really no difference. Maybe there would be a difference in the average eight year olds case but certainly not in Joshua's. He had never been average at anything, excelling in whatever he does with barely any effort. It helped that over the years Erik's support for the youngster and gathered an incredible momentum. Generally, most of the things that Joshua wanted to do, Erik could teach him.

Erik _enjoyed_ teaching him.

He had found over the years that having knowledge makes you powerful and, in some cases, rich and successful. However, since Joshua had been a few years old Erik had come to the stark realisation that if you don't pass that knowledge on then you begin to lose all that is associated with it... on Erik's death bed he wanted to leave someone in the world with the power to continue what he believed in. A lot of people could be forgiven, he was sure, for thinking that he was making Joshua a smaller version of himself. This was not the case... it was not even close.

Joshua possessed all of the intelligence, all that Erik was doing was teaching him how to use it and _why_ was he teaching him how to use it? Mostly because he never wanted to Joshua to feel the same rejection and loneliness that he had. He wanted him to be carefree, able to love and be loved in return. He wanted to be sure that Joshua was informed enough about the world to make up his own mind what he wants to use his intelligence for.

'You can come to opening night,' Erik said, looking down at the boy sitting on his knee.

Joshua groaned and rolled his eyes, a gesture that, from anyone else, would have made Erik furious. Instead he tickled Joshua's sides until he giggled and flapped his arms around erratically, pinned him on the floor so that he didn't hurt himself and then tickled him some more.

'Ahh...' Joshua yelled, through gurgled giggles. 'No.. no...' he tried to roll away, 'Stopppp'

And Erik did. He sat back against the wall, almost as out of breath as his son, with his wrists resting on his knees so that his hands were hanging loosely.

'Opening night,' Erik said, smiling.

Joshua looked at him, thinking for a moment, before nodding. 'Opening night,' he agreed, and, as Erik pulled Joshua close so that he was tucked under his arm he felt, for that moment at least, that everything was just about right with the world.

* * *

Joshua wandered through the living room chewing a chunk of his apple slowly. He made a note to himself to thank the gardener for leaving him one out after he had brought all of the fruit in from the orchard. Joshua liked apples, particularly juicy red ones.

Today was one of those days where he had felt a wealth of emotions. He often had days like this. His father had been acting very strangely and Joshua had become increasingly more worried that he had done something to upset him. When he saw him come in from the garden earlier he decided to say something.

When he saw him more closely he very nearly changed his mind.

His father had been a good father, at least Joshua thought he had been, anyway. Joshua knew other boys from rich families and they got everything and anything they wanted but Joshua often wondered if they got all the things that they needed. He knew that if he wanted something from his father he _could_ ask, he would never get into trouble for asking, but sometimes he would have to work for it.

Like finishing his work early or playing a tough piece of music really well.

Sometimes his father asked him to help James with the household business or to help cook in the kitchen. Despite being only young Joshua understood why his father did this and he loved him all the more for it. This is what made him wonder about his friends. He had seen them all with their families, he had seen them kick and scream when they did not get exactly what they wanted, but he had also seen their fathers barely look at them when they walked into the room. Joshua did not want to live like this, even now he knew that it would never be good enough for him. That's why he was so concerned by his father's mood recently.

He worried about his father, as he worried about his friends, sometimes.

This was the way Joshua's mind worked.

And often, he hated it.

Sometimes he would sit in his room and wish he was a normal boy, with a normal mind, who did normal things. It made his head hurt with the amount of thoughts he had and he wished he could just switch his brain off like doubting a candle and let everything be gone for the night. These feelings did not last for very long because when he thought about the things he had and the family he had he knew that he was lucky and just reminded himself of that fact.

He was lucky to be the son _of such a brilliant man._

People always told him this like he didn't know, but he did. He knew.

He was proud of his father and he knew that his father was proud of him. This on its own would be enough to make Joshua happy but it wasn't all. Fiona looked after him, and the staff helped him and Nadir, his father's friend, brought him gifts from all over the country. Most of all, his father _never_ treated him like a little child. Never, ever. As far as his father was concerned, Joshua was a young grown up and therefore, he treated him that way. He was expected to keep his room in a respectable condition, to be polite to everyone, without exception, and he was expected to study and practice his music every day.

He was bored with the violin, though. What Joshua really wanted to do was to play piano like his father could. It wasn't as if Joshua couldn't play piano it was just that he wasn't as good as his father and he couldn't write music. He wanted _so_ much to write music.

When he walked into the entrance hall he noticed that the new maid was cleaning the sides of the banisters. 'Hello,' he said and saw her jump. Joshua was confused by this and wondered why she looked so nervous. He was nothing to be afraid of.

'Hello,' she said.

'I'm Joshua,' he said, stepping closer and holding his hand out for her. The maid looked at her hands and shook her head.

'They're dusty,' she said.

'It doesn't matter,'

I'm a child, he thought, what makes her think I don't like dirt? She took his hand and shook it gently then got back to her work. He frowned.

'How are you?' he asked, trying to put on his friendliest voice. It must have worked because she stopped working again and turned to face him.

'I'm very well,' she said but Joshua thought that she looked sad. 'How are you?' she asked, hesitantly.

'Good,' he said, grinning. 'Can you help me with something?' he asked and she lifted her eyebrows at him. She had a pretty face, she was a pretty lady. Kind eyes. Joshua liked her already.

'How can I help you?' She asked and Joshua noticed her wringing the dust cloth in her hands. He reached his hand out and held it there for a moment. She looked down at it and then looked back at him, confused.

'Come on!' he said shaking his hand around. She took his hand carefully in hers and he took flight, pulling her along with him. He ran up the stairs and she followed until they got to the music room.

'What do you need me to do?' she asked.

'I need you to be my audience!' he said smiling at her.

'I'm not a very good audience,' she said quietly.

'But you're a really good singer,' he said. 'I know because I heard my father tell Fiona that,'

'That was nice of him,' she said.

'So sing while I play then,' he said and she looked at him.

'I need to work,'

'This will be work,' Joshua said, with a mischievous smile.

'I don't know if I should...'

'Please...' he pleaded. 'My father won't mind... I promise.'

She nodded. 'What am I singing to?' she asked and Joshua knew he had just made a new friend.


	37. Hard on the Soul

**A/N: Right, as FF won't let me look at my reviews I've had to read them in my e-mail, but I can't reply just yet. Will do soon! Thank you all anyway, glad you liked the last chapter… I hope you like this one.**

**RR**

**Chapter 37- Hard on the Soul**

Christine could barely hear Joshua's playing over the sound of her heart pounding. It was so forceful that she was almost positive that it was shaking the ground she stood on. Joshua was standing not far from her, facing her with his eyes closed, playing the violin. His small hand gripped the strings with such passion and his fingers were light on the bow as he drew it across the instrument. It sounded as if he was playing to her heart.

He wanted to warm up before she sang, he had told her. So here she was standing barely a few feet from him, this boy who did not know he was her son, and she was about to sing for him.

Erik would not like this at all.

Joshua opened his eyes and stopped playing. He smiled at her, a smile that was so warm that it made her fingers tingle, a smile so heart felt it shone through his eyes. Her stomach flipped. He was beautiful.

'Are you ready?' he asked, his voice with barely a touch of French in it. It was how she knew that Erik had done so much right by him. There had been no solitude in Joshua's life, he was home schooled but he spent time with English people regularly. The staff had nothing but good to say about him and it broke her heart every time his name was mentioned.

She nodded at him. 'Yes,'

And so he continued to play, much softer and lighter, so that Christine's voice moulded with the melody. As much as this was her dream, it was really all she wanted, she could not bring herself to enjoy the experience of this closeness. However much she wanted to she could not touch or hug or kiss this child in front of her, this child that she had given birth to…

She sang but she knew that her heart was not in it because as she sang to Joshua's violin all she could feel was the layers of her heart crumbling.

When he stopped he beamed at her. 'That was brilliant,' he said, genuinely. Christine felt a blush creep along her cheeks.

'Thank you,' she said, not wanting to say anymore… _just_ in case.

'Do you want a drink?' he asked, his blue eyes shining up at her.

'Shall I get you one?' she said.

'I'll get you one, you were the one singing,' he replied and Christine saw Fiona's kindness in him and felt her stomach twist into a knot.

'I work for you,' Christine said quietly. 'I get _you_ a drink.'

But Joshua stood firm shaking his head. 'I can do it,' he said. 'Is that what you're worried about?'

'No,' she said almost too gently. 'It's just that it's my job to…'

'Don't be silly.' Joshua interjected. 'It will only take me a minute.'

'Let me,' Christine said before Joshua had chance to move. She turned and walked towards the door but she felt the familiar digging pain in the side of her stomach and it stopped her dead. She gripped her stomach with her hands and closed her eyes.

'Chrissie!' Joshua exclaimed, and through her pain she wished that she had never told him her name. 'What's wrong?'

She was still leaning forward, hands crossed over her stomach when he ran to her, placing his hand gently on her back.

'I'm fine,' she struggled, but this didn't feel fine, this felt different.

'But…' Joshua stared at her wide eyed, looking terrified and so she tried to straighten herself out. She hated the fact that he looked frightened and that it was because of her.

No use, she thought, as the pain shot across her ribs.

'I'll get my father,' Joshua said running towards the door.

'No!' Christine managed to shout. 'Get James… please.'

Joshua stared for a moment before running out and leaving her alone with her pain.

* * *

James was standing to the side of Nadir reading the paper cheekily over his shoulder when Joshua came bolting into the room, out of breath and as white as a sheet. 

'What's wrong?' James asked, forgetting, in his panic, that he was speaking to his boss.

'It's Chrissie,' he panted. 'She's hurt!'

James' heart thudded. 'Where is she?' he asked.

'Upstairs,' Joshua said, turning to leave as Nadir stared at them both. 'Quickly!'

So both James and Nadir took a glance at each other and then followed him up the stairs and down the corridor to the half open door of the music room. When they entered Christine was sitting on the floor with her back propped against one of the seats holding her stomach, her eyes were squeezed tightly shut.

'Chrissie,' James said as he knelt by her side. 'What's happened?'

'Pain,' she managed to gasp.

'Where?' Nadir asked as he knelt at her other side and, in a gesture that surprised James, took her hand in his.

'My…' she struggled. 'My stomach… low…'

'Can you stand?' James asked, feeling desperation creep into his throat and take his voice like a thief.

'No,' she said, shaking her head.

'We need to get Erik,' Nadir said, looking at James.

'No, please…' Christine murmured. 'Please don't…'

'Listen to me,' Nadir said, his dark eyes focusing on her face. 'You need help.'

'I'll be fine…' she gasped. 'See…' she pushed herself up to her feet but it was as if someone swept her legs out from under her as she collapsed back down.

'What's happening?' Joshua asked and James gritted his teeth, he had forgotten that Joshua was there. He turned to look at him standing behind them. shaking like a leaf caught in the breeze.

'She's just a bit poorly, Joshua,' James said gently.

'Don't treat me like an idiot!' Joshua exclaimed.

James looked at Nadir who raised his eyebrows. James had certainly not expected _that_ response.

'I'm fine, Joshua…' Christine said as normally as she could muster.

'You don't look it…' Joshua said, tears welling up in his eyes. 'Is it my fault? Is it because I asked you to sing and you didn't want to?' the tears trickled down his cheeks.

'No, darling…' Christine murmured and James' heart lurched. 'Of course not… it's not your fault.'

James felt a certain amount of relief come over him but just as it looked as though Christine was about to calm Joshua down they heard the door of the room click open.

'What the hell is going on in here?'

James could do nothing but close his eyes.

* * *

Nadir somehow found the courage to turn his attention from Joshua and look towards the door. 

'I asked what was going on,' Erik said and Nadir knew that where he was kneeling was blocking Erik's view of Christine.

Erik held his arm out. 'Josh,' he said and Joshua ran to him, tucking himself into his father's body. 'Well?' he said to the rest of them.

Nadir took a glance at James who stood up slowly and stared at his master. He saw his friend's Adams apple bob as he swallowed hard. Nadir too stood up and moved aside so that Erik could see what was happening. Erik looked at Christine and then quickly down at Joshua.

'Josh,' Erik said, using the name that only he called his son. 'Look at me.'

Nadir watched as Erik placed his hand on Joshua's cheek and turned him so that they were looking directly at each other. Erik's eyes had obviously softened and he lowered his hands to Joshua's shoulders and began rubbing his arms gently. Joshua's crying subsided slowly as his gaze fixed on Erik's and somehow Erik managed to forcea small smile.

'See…' Erik said, keeping his tone light. Nadir looked on with fascination. 'Chrissie is quite poorly, do you want to help her?'

The boy nodded but did not take his attention away from Erik.

'Good,' Erik said, kissing his son's forehead gently. 'I need you to run downstairs and find Alan, can you do that?'

Again, Joshua nodded.

'Good boy,' Erik said standing up but still looking at his son. 'When you find him tell him to find Doctor Walker and bring him here, quickly… I expect he will be at home.'

Joshua stepped back.

'Go on, Josh,' he said. 'It's fine.'

And Joshua did as he was told, turning quickly on his heel and darting out of the room. As soon as the child was out of ear shot Erik turned, closed the door and then turned againto face the three of them in the centre of the room. Nadir took a quick sideways glance at James who was standing stiffly to his left, staring at the floor. Then the Persian looked back over at Erik whose eyes were furious.

'What happened?' he asked, stepping towards them. Nadir became aware of James at his side, moving backwards away from his employer.

'She must have been in here with Joshua,' Nadir said, after he had cleared his throat. 'He came running down to fetch us… told us that she was hurt.'

Erik nodded. 'Why didn't you come to get me?'

Nadir looked at James who was frozen on the spot now, too unsure of anything to move forwards or back and certainly too anxious to open his mouth.

'I asked them not to,' Christine said quietly, which finally turned Erik's attention back down to her.

Erik moved in, so that he was standing with his feet next to her body, his shadow covered her. 'James fetch us a cup of water.' He commanded without looking at the butler.

Nadir glanced at James and then nodded at him.

'Yes sir,' James managed to say before he disappeared from the room.

'I expected better of you Daroga,'

'I'm sorry, Erik,' Nadir said, and meant it. 'But we have been here only a few minutes, I promise.'

Whether Erik believed him or not didn't matter now. His attention was firmly on the woman lying by his feet, his eyes were fixed on her face which was so pale it was almost a shade of light green. There were tears resting on the skin under her eyes and she had taken her hand back and was holding her stomach tightly.

'Why didn't you tell me the pain was like this?' he asked, staring down at her.

'It wasn't,'

'You're lying,' Erik said sharply.

Nadir shook his head. 'Erik, this can't possibly be helping,' he said.

'Did I ask for your opinion?' Erik snapped.

'No you didn't but she needs your help not your lecture!' Erik turned his eyes onto him and scowled but said nothing.

'Where is the pain Christine?'

'Lower stomach and back…' she managed to say before squeezing her eyes shut in agony.

'Have you been feeling dizzy?' he asked, his voice slightly softer.

Christine could manage nothing but a nod.

'Fainted?'

She shook her head weakly.

'Lost your balance?' he asked.

She nodded.

Nadir stood in silence as Erik glanced at him over his shoulder. When he caught his eye Nadir could see what look like a shimmer of tear but he could not be quite sure. What he was sure of was that his eyes had softened considerably.

'Nadir get me the blanket from the piano bench,' Erik said as he rolled his sleeves up and then reached down and lifted Christine from the floor. Nadir did as he was asked, quickly grabbing the blanket and running back to them. He was just in time to see Erik lay Christine tenderly onto the settee and prop her head up with a cushion.

Erik took the blanket from Nadir and placed it over Christine.

'We just have to wait for Doctor Walker,' Erik said quietly, turning around to face Nadir. Nadir's eyes drifted over his dishevelled friend and rested, in shock, on Erik's arm.

'Erik,' Nadir said quietly, staring at his arm.

'What?' Erik asked, frowning.

'You've got blood on your arm…'


	38. The Doctor

**A/N: Thank you for all reviews, signed or not. And thank you to those who continue to read! **

**Might be in the market for a Beta, I always miss things on my read throughs… it's a consideration. Feel free to drop me an e-mail if you're interested.**

**RR**

**Chapter 38- The Doctor.**

Erik stood alone in the bathroom, hands dipped in the warm water contained in the basin. He moved his hand along his arm and smeared Christine's blood down to his wrists. His stomach turned. It was strange how Christine's blood seemed lighter than he remembered but still clung to him in the same way it had those years ago in the opera cellar.

He rubbed his arm harder until eventually the water was pink and his skin was sore, but clean. He placed his hands flat on the cabinet, either side of the basin, and looked at himself in the mirror. In all of the years he had been in this house he had never used this particular bathroom and he was shocked by how clear his image was as it stared back.

'Erik,' Fiona was standing outside the door and Erik sighed as he turned around.

'Come in,' he said, too quietly. The door opened inwards and Fiona stepped inside cautiously, clicking it shut behind her.

'Joshua is waiting for you,' she said, her eyes burning him with their intensity. She was staring at him in the way she did when she was unsure what to make of him... what to make of his mood. He looked at her for a long moment thinking about how he had become quite accustomed to this look in her eyes, the look she got when she was confused by him, but nothing ever really got him accustomed to the _colour_ of her eyes.

Very green.

'I'll speak to him when Doctor Walker leaves,' He said and leaned against then cabinet, a sudden and unusual feeling of weakness sweeping over him as he did.

Fiona's eyes moved over him and rested on his arms. 'What happened?' she asked and Erik looked down at his arm.

Very red.

'She was bleeding,' He replied quietly and pulled his sleeves back down to cover both of his arms.

He saw the look she gave him, she was concerned and trying to hide it, but not even the gentle nod of her head and her silence could convince him that she wasn't. The silence falling between them did not help the churning feeling in Erik's stomach. In fact, he wasn't incredibly sure _what_ he was feeling.

Fiona stepped towards him and placed her hand on his cheek, her touch was soft and warm and Erik placed his hand over hers.

'Aside from this...' she said, looking into his eyes. 'What's bothering you?'

He stood quietly for a moment. 'She needs to be ready for the show,' It was all he could say, the only explanation he could think of that made any sense, to him or, surely, to anyone else.

She was still looking into his eyes with as much intensity as when she started. It was amazing how she could fix him with her eyes and make him feel speechless, truly and utterly speechless. He had no answer to their depth, he just looked back, his own eyes seemed to find colour in them that others mightonly ever see in nature. He shook his head and moved away.

He didn't love Fiona, he didn't _think_ that he loved Fiona. He had tried to love her, wanted to love her... he certainly had enough lust for her… he cared about her… but to love her? To love her would leave himself open to so much hurt, so much rejection. The thought made his blood bubble.

How had he found himself in this place?

He remembered his old self, the person he once was when he lived under the opera house. He had spent hours and hours alone since then dissecting that man in his mind. What he had left behind was a person _used_ to being alone and looking after only himself. He had left behind a home that he loved and a privacy that he enjoyed and for what?

For this.

He looked back at Fiona who was saying something, he had not heard a single word, he simply nodded and watched as she turned to leave.

Left alone in the bathroom he gritted his teeth and forced his eyes back to the mirror, allowing himself to stare at the monster glaring back. That was what he was, what he had always been, and no matter how hard he tried that was one part of him that he could not get rid of. He was still foul tempered, he still hated most of mankind and he still believed that should he reveal his face then all that he had gained would be gone in a heartbeat.

And what exactly was it that had he gained for leaving all of his world behind?

He had gained a wife who was beautiful, kind and accepting. She was the kind of wife that he knew most men longed for and many women envied. Fiona had the sort of beauty that mostly only royalty could get away with but somehow she carried it with so much grace. He had Joshua now, a boy he probably could not love more if he tried but he was someone else's blood, someone else's son. Why was it that he always loved the things that could never truly belong to him? He balled his hands into fists and brought them down onto the cabinet top hard.

And now Christine was back, now living in his home, now singing in his opera and now? _Now_, he thought, she was ill. He leaned forward and closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the cold glass of the mirror.

What was he supposed to do?

* * *

Doctor Robert Walker sighed as he stepped out of the bedroom and closed the door behind him. When he had arrived the butler, James, had taken him into the music room where he found Chrissie lying under a light blanket on the settee. He had insisted that they help him move her to a more comfortable place, where he could check her over. James had obliged quickly, lifting her up himself and carrying her to the bedroom. This was done, Robert noted, much to the distaste of Erik Valesk, whose eyes were as frosty as he had ever seen them. 

'Is she going to get better?' James asked as Robert walked past him in the corridor.

Robert turned to face him.' Go and ask her yourself,' he said with a smile. 'She would probably like to see you.'

James simply nodded and Robert continued to walk, in search of Erik.

He did not need to look for long, he found him leaning against the wall next the bathroom at the end of the corridor. When he approached, Erik turned his head and looked at him, but did not stand up straight or say a word. He was frowning.

'Erik,' Robert said and nodded an acknowledgment.

'Hello Robert,' he said quietly. Robert held out his hand and Erik pushed himself away from the wall and shook it vigorously. 'How is she?' he asked and Robert frowned.

'Shall we step into your office?' he asked. Erik's blue eyes rested on his face and Robert forced a smile.

Once they were inside Erik's office Robert waited to be invited to sit down, Erik opened the curtains and stared out of the window for several minutes as if he had forgotten that Robert was even there. When he turned around it was as if a transformation had taken place, Erik suddenly looked tired and sullen.

'What's the matter with her?' He asked, finally waving his arm out as a gesture for Robert to sit.

The chair he chose was opposite Erik's desk and as Erik himself sat down, Robert pulled the seat he was on closer to the table. 'Erik...' he said quietly, leaning forward. 'She has suffered the miscarriage of a baby.'

Erik replied with a nod.

'Where is her husband?' Robert asked, curious that the girl should be going through her pregnancy alone and working.

'He works abroad,' Erik said simply and Robert saw a flicker of something dart across Erik's cool eyes. If he was surprised by the news that the maid was pregnant he was not showing it.

'Well...' Robert continued. 'She needs bed rest for at least two days...'

Again, Erik nodded.

'Plenty of good clean water, nothing too stressful for the next week and I will come back and assess her in a couple of days.'

'Is that all?' Erik asked. 'Does she need medication?'

Robert shook his head. 'I'm afraid only bed rest... some soft words from her husband would not go amiss.'

'I will...' Erik paused and Robert watched him carefully. He had never seen Erik Valesk acting so strangely. 'I will see if I can contact him.'

Robert nodded and pushed himself to his feet, holding his hand out once again for Erik to shake. As Erik took it, he stood slowly looking directly into Robert's eyes, and nodded his head.

'Thank you,' he said, and grasped Robert's hands in both of his. They were cold and Robert resisted an urge to tear his hands away, all of the time he had spent with Erik in the past and all of the times he had shook his hands, they had never been this cold.

'Erik, are you feeling unwell?' Robert asked, letting go of his hand.

Erik looked at him and then smiled briefly, subtly moving along to usher him out of the room. When they got to the door Robert reached out and pulled it open, stepping out quickly into the corridor. Erik did not follow, he remained shadowed in the room, standing just to the side of the door. Robert glanced at Erik's tall shape in the doorway and, not for the first time in his presence, felt slightly nervous.

'Goodbye,' Robert said, with a nod of his head, and he turned to walk away.

'Robert,' Erik called after him and he turned around quickly to face him.

'Yes?'

'Did she have any bruises?' he asked and Robert frowned.

'A small bruise close to her hip bone,' Robert said. 'She said she stumbled into the corner of a table... expected as much really.'

'Thank you again, Doctor,' Erik said and before Robert could tell him that he was welcome, he had closed the door to the office.


	39. Generations

**A/N: Forgive me! I had such a mental block on this chapter… I just couldn't get it to sound right and I'm still not sure that I have. Still, its done now!**

**Thank you for all reviews, short and long!**

**Let me know what you think, another update to follow, hopefully, before Monday. **

**RR**

**Chapter 39- Generations. **

Joshua sat with his feet hanging over the edge of the seat, swinging them around so that they hit the legs of the chair then bounced back together. The living room was quiet, as was the hallway and the dining room and the kitchen and the study... the whole house was silent because everyone was upstairs waiting for news on Chrissie. Joshua sighed and sat alone, and helpless, waiting for someone to come and let him know what was happening.

It didn't happen often, but he was confused.

He had this sinking feeling in his stomach that this was all his fault, that he had caused Chrissie to be ill.

He really hadn't meant to.

'Josh,'

He looked up towards the door where his father was standing, wearing only a white shirt and trousers. Joshua looked back at his hands and blinked away the tears from his eyes.

'Papa?' He said softly, and looked back up at him. His father stepped inside the room and knelt by the side of the chair, reached out and placed his hand on Joshua's shoulder.

'She will be fine, Josh,' He said and Joshua felt a wave of relief flood over him.

He liked it when his father called him Josh. Somewhere there was comfort in the endearment.

'Was it my fault?' the words were out before he could think about them but he needed to know, it was already eating him inside.

'No,' His father's voice was calm and it felt soothing to his ears. He squeezed his shoulder gently. 'It's no ones fault, she is just ill but Doctor Walker said that she will recover soon.'

Joshua nodded. 'Thank you,'

'What are you thanking me for?' His father asked, his voice still gentle.  
'You helped her... you found James and Nadir... you got the Doctor here.'

Joshua couldn't help but smile. He _had_ done a good thing, something that had helped someone else and his father was obviously proud of him. Joshua watched as his father stood and then he leaned down to kiss his hair.

His father always seemed proud of him.

'You're probably her hero now,' He winked.

Joshua grinned.

'In fact...' his father said, returning his smile. 'I bet she would like to see you.'

Joshua leapt from his seat and spun around, grabbing his father's hand and pulling him towards the door. He really wanted to see Chrissie, he felt bad for leaving her there but he had had to, he didn't have a choice... it didn't make him feel any better about it though. He felt almost _warm_ knowing that she was going to be well again.

As they stepped out of the door Fiona walked towards them and quickly placed a kiss on Joshua's forehead. His father smiled at her and she returned it by tiptoeing and kissing his forehead too.

'Do you feel better now?' She asked and reached out to ruffle Joshua's hair. He stood there smiling at her but thinking about how much he hated it when she did that, still, he grit his teeth and let her do it.

'Yes, thank you,'

Although the hair ruffling annoyed him he could never say that he did not love Fiona, she was kind and warm hearted, and took very good care of him.

One of his fondest memories was when he was four or five and Fiona let him ride her horse for the first time. He was so excited and nervous at the same time and she was very kind to him. She walked along side the horse and held his back as he gripped the reigns tightly. He had loved to ride ever since and still remembered the feeling of that first horse's smooth hair against his fingertips.

Joshua rocked backwards and forwards on his tiptoes waiting while his father spoke quietly to Fiona.

Fiona was not his mother.

Joshua knew this but he was not quite sure how he knew it. He didn't remember anyone actually _telling_ him that she wasn't nor did he remember her ever treating him as if he wasn't her son.

Joshua often wondered how she felt about looking after him instead of one of her own babies. He wondered if he would ever have a brother or sister, or if, when he did, he would be allowed to call them that. After all, it would only be half true. He twisted the thought around quietly in his mind and after debating it began to wonder what they might look like. He glanced to the left and caught his own reflection in the tall mirror.

He had blue eyes and black hair. He didn't know any other boys with that combination. He didn't know many boys with black hair at all. Well, not as black as his hair anyway. His hand reached up, as if without him telling it to, and touched the ends of a handful of hair. He watched himself in the mirror as he twiddled it between his fingers, a frown forming on his face as he inspected it carefully.

It must have been a couple of minutes before he turned his attention away from the mirror and realised that his father and Fiona were staring at him. He smiled shyly, feeling embarrassed, and stepped towards them.

'Are you alright?' Fiona asked him, a small frown creasing her forehead.

Joshua nodded. 'I was just wondering how my hair got to be so black,'

He could see Fiona smile and his father walked over to him and placed a hand on his right shoulder.

'Well,' His father said, guiding him towards the bottom of the stairs as Fiona left them to it. 'I have very black hair,' he bent down towards Joshua. 'See?'

Joshua nodded.

'And your mother… she…' His father stopped and smiled at him. 'Dark hair…'

'She had dark hair too?'

This time it was his father's turn to stop and nod. 'Not black… but dark.'

'So I _get_ it from you?'

'You inherit it,'

'Like when people die?' Joshua said.

'Same sort of thing only this is about what you're born with, inside,' he smiled and touched his fingertips to his chest. 'As opposed to what you earn.'

'I understand,' Joshua said and he did. 'So was your father's hair black, papa?'

'Yes,' he said, sitting on the bottom step of the staircase. He patted the space next to him with the palm of his hand. 'As black as yours but not nearly as thick... his hair was thinner and grey in places.'

'It can't have always been that way,'

His father smiled. 'I don't expect that it was, but I only knew him when he was older,'

'What colour was your mother's hair?' Joshua asked, leaning his body against his father's side. Joshua felt his father's arm slip around him and squeeze him into his side.

'I don't remember,' he said.

'Really?' Joshua asked. 'Like the way I don't remember?'

His father shrugged and jumped to his feet quickly. His face had changed and Joshua wasn't sure why.

'Come,' he said, abruptly. 'Shall we go and check on Chrissie?'

Joshua nodded, a little sadly, wondering how he had offended his father whose hand was outstretched behind him. Joshua took it softly and began to ascend the stairs, following his father, who didn't look down at him.

* * *

Erik knew that the line of conversation had been dangerous and he knew that he should not have answered his son so readily but for some reason, which was totally beyond him, he had felt the need to open up to someone. Joshua just happened to be asking the right questions.

A least until Joshua had asked the last one.

Erik didn't mind talking about his father, he had loved his father, if all too briefly. He was a hulk of a man, tall and broad. His shoulders were so wide that they blocked the light from windows and shone a power that people could generally only earn. His father had had green eyes, a dull green but they were kind. His father had kind eyes.

When Erik was a small child his father could pick him up with one hand and he could sit, quite comfortably, on only one of his massive shoulders. He felt so tall back then and, despite his mother, so loved. When Erik was on his father's shoulder sometimes his father would kiss his knee, especially if he was wearing short trousers.

Erik looked down at Joshua, clinging to his hand, and swallowed hard.

The night his father had died was strange and cruel. The weather in Paris had been scorching hot, reaching temperatures that even made the gentleman remove their suit jackets. The sun was a different sort of bright, a type of bright that as a child Erik had never seen before.

He had spent the daytime, after lunch, in the garden area alone with his father who was building him a toy cart to push around the floor. It was Erik's only memory of ever being excited about something. Suddenly, his father stood up, lifting Erik with him and carried him inside, announcing that he was tired and that he was going to retire for an early nap. Erik even remembered smiling at him and telling him that it was fine, that his father could finish the cart whenever he wanted.

He just enjoyed spending time with him.

He had watched his father smile at him, blow him a small kiss, and walk up the stairs out of sight leaving Erik sitting in the small kitchen at the front of the house. His father had waved.

His cart never did get finished.

That was the last time he ever saw him.

Erik looked down as he felt Joshua tug at his hand and he realised that they were standing outside the bedroom door. He forced a smile down at the child and shook his hand away gently.

'Do you want to go in first?' he asked watching Joshua beam back up at him.

'Yes,' he said, quickly and starting to run forward. Erik reached out and grabbed his shoulder.

'Go in slowly…' he said, shaking his head. 'And quietly, she might be sleeping.'

Joshua nodded and Erik let go of his shoulder, following him quietly into the room. The curtains were still drawn and the room was getting darker, as was the night around them. They stepped in and Erik knew before he even looked around properly that something was amiss.

'Where is she?' Joshua asked.

Very good question, Erik thought, because she certainly wasn't there.


	40. Maid and Master

**A/N: Caution for violence. **

**Thank you for all reviews, will answer all individually shortly!**

**Hope you like this chapter.**

**RR **

**x **

**Chapter 40- Maid and Master.**

It seemed he arrived at his destination in no time at all and now found himself banging on the door with his hands balled into fists. It was as if he were watching himself become someone else with no way of stopping it, but, as his fury built, he realised that he did not want to. He pounded the door harder until he heard the bolt at the top slide back. He thought about barging straight through but changed his mind and stood back, waiting for the door to open.

The face he saw was that of Graham Jones, who was probably the neatest and politest butler Erik had ever met. He _almost_ felt bad about what was about to happen.

'Where's Michael?' Erik asked, his eyes drifting over the butler's shoulder to look around the hallway. The room looked dark and the flickering candles threw ominous shadows around the room but still it was empty.

'He is unavailable, sir,' Graham said, bowing his head slightly, flashing the top of his greying hair. 'Can I take a message to him?'

'No,' Erik snapped and stepped towards the door. The butler did not move back nor forward, he just stood firm, eyes fixed firmly on Erik's dark face. His mask didn't seem to bother anyone anymore, he noted, least of all the hardened butler.

Obviously he had seen more working for the Bailey's than most would see all over the world.

'I'm afraid he really _is_ busy,' the butler insisted. His did not falter from polite and agreeable but grated Erik's already fraying temper all the same.

'I'm sure,' Erik said, making the sound come from low in his throat. Graham began to look concerned but remained still. 'Is he upstairs?'

'He is not taking guests currently sir,'

Repetitive, Erik thought, bored.

'He _will_ see me,' Erik said, as calmly as he could, but he began to feel the anger coursing through his veins.

'I'm afraid not,' Graham repeated and stepped back beginning to close the door.

Erik shook his head and stepped forward, pressing the palm of his hand against the door causing it to burst open and knock Graham to the ground. As Graham began to stand to compose himself Erik pushed him back to the floor and rested his foot on the butler's scrawny throat, adding just enough pressure to cause Graham to panic. The butler waved his arms and tried to break free but Erik simply stared down at him thrashing around and felt very little sympathy.

'Where is he?' Erik asked, adding more pressure to the butler's neck.

Graham tried grabbing his foot with his hands but it only made Erik press harder and, therefore, Graham choked more. 'Back room...' he gasped.

'Now you wouldn't _lie_ to me would you, Graham?' Erik teased, pushing his foot down a little harder. He felt the butler attempt to shake his head and Erik finally lifted his foot.

Erik heard the approaching footsteps from behind him before anyone even entered the room. By the time they were there he was halfway down the corridor heading, with purpose, towards the back of the house.

'What on earth are you doing, Erik?'

He spun around. 'Why don't you follow me and see for yourself, Deborah?' he said, and then once again turned away.

'How dare you ram your way in like this!' she said, her voice was shrill and irritating as she began running to catch him up.

'Do you know where your husband is?' he asked, glancing sideways as she moved to the side of him.

'Working,'

'On what?' Erik asked without stopping. The sight of Deborah Bradley's flustered face in front of him, as she placed her hands on his chest to stop him, would have made him laugh under any other circumstances.

'I don't ask,' she said as she stood in front of him obviously thinking that she had stopped him.

'Then get out of my way,' he said, more calmly than he felt.

'I will not!' she insisted, hand still on the centre of his chest.

'Fine,' he said and reached out to grab both of her shoulders. In one swift movement he moved her aside and made his way towards the door at the end of the corridor.

* * *

Christine had hoped that he would be out, or in bed, or anywhere but here when she got back to the house. Unfortunately she had miscalculated. She wasn't sure how exactly she had managed to make it back but somehow she had. Now, it was not as if she had never been in this situation before but this time it was different. She felt so weak and futile that even when she tried to fight back her energy was so low that Michael simply grabbed her hands and pinned her down.

She gritted her teeth as her stomach turned over with the waves of nausea that crashed down on her. All she could do was close her eyes and wait, take herself to all of the places she could and be anywhere, anywhere on earth, but there. She was finding it so difficult to remove herself from the room this time, she was all too aware of the feeling of Michael's sticky sweat rubbing from his palms onto her skin and all too aware of the smell of stale smoke on his hot breath as he leaned into her.

Instantly she regretted coming back here but she needed to, she had to warn Sara to escape while she was still well enough to and she had to do it tonight, before everyone knew about her miscarriage and, therefore, so did Michael.

She had barely stepped two feet into the doorway when he had caught her.

Away from her thoughts and back in the room Christine squeezed her eyes closed and simply waited for the pain.

It never came.

In fact, Michael suddenly seemed lighter to her, his grip had loosened. It wasn't until she heard his voice that she opened her eyes.

'You bastard,' Erik growled, his hands gripped tightly to Michael Bailey's throat as he pinned him against the wall, letting his feel dangle.

Deborah was standing at the door with her hands to her mouth, staring as if she was surprised by what was happening in front of her.

Christine lay still, in pain, but fully clothed.

'Put me down,' Michael managed to gasp but rather than let him go Christine saw Erik's knuckles whiten as he tightened his grip on Michael's throat.

'Erik!' Deborah somehow managed to scream. It was a high-pitched sound, causing Christine to frown as she realised that she had never heard his name sound so ugly. She watched as Erik turned his face to the side to fix the glow of his eyes on the damaged wife in the door.

'Go away, Deborah,' He said, quite calmly, Christine thought, as she struggled to her feet and leant against the wall. Deborah opened her mouth to protest but no sound came out, instead she walked into the room with her hands out and headed towards Christine.

In a flash Erik had thrown Michael to the ground, sending him skidding into the wall, and turned around to grab Deborah's wrists. 'Stop,' he said coldly.

'I was going to help her out of the room,'

'You'll do nothing of the sort,' he said as he positioned himself between Deborah and Christine letting go of the formers wrist and reaching out behind him to touch Christine's hand, as if he was checking that she was still there.

'I...' Deborah said but Erik shook his head.

'Get out of here,' he said, pushing her away from him.

She stumbled backwards but remained on her feet and nodded her head. As she walked out and closed the door behind her Michael regained some of his faculties and found his way to his feet.

Christine stood motionless as he leapt across the room and threw his right fist towards Erik's face. Erik lifted his hand and grabbed Michael's fist in his palm. Michael's momentum stopped almost immediately and Erik squeezed his fist. Christine closed her eyes in a wince as she heard his bones crack in Erik's powerful grasp.

Michael groaned. 'Erik... what's the matter with you, man?'

'With me?' Erik said, squeezing harder, causing Michael to crumple to his knees. 'What's the matter with _you_?'

'She's just a maid...' Michael managed to gasp.

'You're disgusting,' Erik spat, loosing Michael's hand. Michael curled into a ball, eyes watering as he clutched his red hand with his other.

Then Michael began to laugh. It was a laugh from deep in his stomach that escaped in bursts from his thin lips. Christine once again closed her eyes.

'Erik...' he blurted, the laughs still rocking his body as he cradled his hand against himself. 'You don't actually love this common whore do you?'

Christine squeezed her eyes shut because she knew what was coming.

The next thing she heard was the dull thud of Erik's shoe connecting with Michael's stomach and the sound of him vomiting from the pain. When she opened her eyes Erik was still standing over Michael who was kneeling, hair flopped over his eyes, looking at the ground.

'Get up,' Erik snarled and she could see his hand flexing open and closed. Michael glanced up at Erik and shook his head, grinning through yellowing teeth. Erik reached down and grabbed his shirt, heaving him to his feet. Michael was hunched over, his breathing short and sharp, his hand was as red as his face was green.

'Well...' Michael said, so distorted by alcohol that he had obviously forgotten where he was. 'She's all yours friend...' he slurred and Erik hit him, closed fist and full in the mouth, sending him flying into the wall. Michael somehow managed to find the energy to look up and Christine watched as the blood and saliva poured from his mouth. He spat out part of a tooth and coughed a pool of blood onto the floor.

Erik walked over and lifted him again, twisting one of his arms behind his back and pushing his body into the wall. Erik leaned into his ear as Michael tried to free himself.

'Do you have any remorse?' Erik whispered, pushing Michael's arm further up his back.

'She... my maid... mine...' Michael gasped.

'She isn't yours,' Erik barked. 'She doesn't belong to _you_!'

He coughed. 'Nor you,'

Erik threw him back to the ground and Christine heard the crack of his head against the skirting board. Christine's eyes drifted over the blood stained wall where Michael's mouth had been when Erik had him pinned there, she wondered briefly, if Deborah was standing outside the door listening the helpless groans of her husband.

Erik turned to her and for a moment, as their eyes met, she was fixed by his gaze. It felt like a perpetual silence had fallen between them and it seemed to be an eternity before Erik walked towards her. She had her back to the wall, the feeling of entrapment returned to her as her palms began to sweat. He walked up close, so that he was barely an inch away from her, and looked into her eyes. She felt the heat of his eyes and swallowed hard, knowing that this spark between them was what she had missed the most about the Opera Ghost.

She wasn't really sure what she was expecting from him and her weak body, finally unable to take anymore, slumped back so that she was resting against the wall. He edged closer but instead of talk he reached out so that his hand was over her shoulder. Surprised, she glanced up to where his hand had come to rest and then, in that instant, she simply _knew_.


	41. Angels and Demons

**A/N: Sadistic Erik warning. Read and review. **

**Chapter 41- Angels and Demons**

The rope felt warm and comfortable in his softening hands, the frayed edges barely bothered him as he slid it through one hand to the other and tied it into a knot. The loop was almost a perfect replica of the ones he used to keep in his belt... just in case. He held it firmly by the noose in his left hand and look down at Christine, who was staring at him, wide eyed and unmoving. He knew that he should take note, he knew that he should stop and there was this part of him, the new part of him, niggling away.

Put the rope down...

But the furious, hardened and disgusted part of him won in the end, holding out as he grasped the rope and stepped away from Christine towards the slumped figure of Michael Bailey. The room was dark and the candles dotted around flickered only enough to throw the occasional shadow around the walls of the room. As he approached Michael's eyes grew larger as the pupils expanded with the droplets of fear, as if he had only just worked out the extent of Erik's rage. It could only truly be described as rage. It was blind rage… no not blind, it was a rage that he knew was there but could not stop, no matter how much he attempted to claw back his fading sanity.

Erik remembered this feeling well and as much as he feared the outbursts, sometimes he actually found himself craving them for the pure rush it fuelled around his body.

He stood over Michael.

'You...' he snarled, kicking Michael's foot out from in front of him. 'Make me sick...'

Erik saw Michael's Adam's apple bob nervously. 'What are you doing?' his breathing was laboured and he looked as though he wanted to sleep.

You can sleep, Erik thought, soon.

'We're going to have a short conversation about what you've been doing,' Erik said, tone menacing as his eyes glistening with the terrified reflection of Michael.

'I haven't...'

Erik interrupted. 'What?' he scoffed. 'Are you going to treat me like a fool when your life is balancing precariously in my hands?'

Michael was shaking his head. 'You wouldn't…'

'You don't know me very well,'

'We're friends,'

'We're nothing,'

Erik tightened the rope in his hands and held it tight across his field of vision as he stared through it towards Michael. Erik forced a smile away from his lips as he saw that Michael was quivering to almost earthquake proportions. He crouched down and passed the rope to his left hand, let it dangle by his side, and looked into Michael Bailey's red eyes.

'Now…' Erik said, smiling at the man who _thought_ that they were friends. Without a word Michael took a swipe for Erik's foot and missed by inches, causing Erik to chuckle sardonically and straighten himself back up. 'That was stupid.'

Michael nodded, as if in agreement, and Erik shook his head.

'I'm…' Michael choked, his face becoming paler.

Erik cocked his eyebrow. 'You're…' he dragged the sound out.

'Sorry…' Michael murmured weakly.

'Sorry?'

'I'm sorry…' he repeated. 'I'm sorry for what I did…'

'It's good that you're past denying it now, at least we can move on,' Erik said, taunting, teasing. 'What is it exactly that you _think_ you have done?'

'I…' he swallowed hard. His voice became quieter, a hoarse whisper. 'Took her…'

'Took?'

'Erik,' Michael closed his eyes and the blood continued to seep from his mouth. 'You know what I mean.'

'You took her?' Erik folded his arms, allowing the noose to hang loosely in front of Michael's face. 'Took _who_?'

'Why are you doing this?'

Erik stared at him.

'Chrissie,' Michael answered, closing his eyes briefly, as if unable to look into Erik's face, unable to look at Christine and mostly, unable to look at the lasso.

'That's not what you did,' Erik said his voice low and even, unwavering in the stuffiness of the dark room.

Michael looked up, confused.

'No,' Erik said, quietly, staring at Michael. 'What you did was you took her freedom… her pride…' he stopped, looked at the rope, back to Michael. 'Hurt her… made her bleed, made her scared…'

Michael shook his head.

'No?' Erik frowned.

'No,' Michael said weakly.

'Then what?'

'She…'

'She … _what_?' He was losing his patience. 'You took advantage of her, you used her and you _raped_ her.'

'She said she was lonely…' Michael blurted. Erik gritted his teeth together causing his jaw muscles to bunch in a knot. 'I didn't…'

'Shut up,' Erik said, quietly. His voice full of frightening calm, a calm he hadn't felt for years. The calm he had when he was like this, in control but out of control.

Michael nodded.

'She didn't ask for this,' Erik said, tilting his head to the side. 'Did she?' he patronised.

Michael shook his head and swallowed hard.

'What made you think you had the right to her body?' Erik snapped, moving aside so that Michael got a glimpse of Christine.

Erik twanged the rope between his two hands and loosened the noose, holding it up at eye level, showing Michael that he was judging the size of his neck.

'Will it hurt?' Michael murmured feebly.

Erik shrugged. 'I don't know, Michael,' he said. 'Are you _really_ sorry?'

'Yes,' Michael replied, nodding as emphatically as his weak body could muster.

'Does she know that you're sorry?'

'I don't know,'

'Perhaps,' Erik said, coolly. 'You should tell her.'

Michael's eye twitched as he took a deep breath and then grabbed his ribs with his arm. Hugging himself like a spoilt child.

'Or perhaps you shouldn't,' Erik said quickly, stepping in his eye-line. 'You're not even fit to kneel in the same room as her.'

Michael was shaking visibly, his lip trembled, blood still oozed through his teeth and onto his chin and he still clung to his ribs in desperation. Erik imagined they probably _would_ be hurting.

He didn't care.

Michael murmured something and Erik, despite his well tuned hearing, did not catch what he said. He frowned and looked down at Michael, who somehow found the will to look back.

'What did you say?' Erik asked, almost serenely.

'I said…' Michael took a breath, squeezed his side with his fingertips. 'Will you… I mean… Oh God… are you going to kill me?'

Erik laughed. '_Now_ you're getting to know me,'

'Are you enjoying torturing me?'

'Perceptive,'

Michael closed his eyes. 'Don't kill me…' he muttered.

'Where are your manners?' Erik said, he _was_ enjoying himself. Probably too much.

'I don't understand…' Michael said, between gasped breaths.

'Well,' Erik said, smiling. 'I thought you might at least say please.'

'Please…' Michael said, too quickly, and Erik frowned.

'Why not?' Erik asked. Reasonable question, he thought, under the circumstances.

'I…' Michael took a puff of air. 'Don't want to die.'

'And you think _that's_ the reason you deserve to live?'

Michael rested his head back against the wall and Erik moved closer, holding the rope in his two hands. He looked down at Michael, who still had his eyes closed.

'Move your head forward,' Erik ordered.

'Please…' Michael begged.

'Do it,'

'No… please…'

Erik sighed. 'You're trying my patience,'

'Don't do this…'

'I'll ask you one last time…' Erik said, holding the rope out. 'Move your head forward, _please_.'

When Michael neither spoke nor moved Erik reached down with his left hand and grabbed a fistful of Michael's damp hair. He pulled hard, jerking him violently away from the wall.

He dropped the noose over his head and let it hang loosely around his neck.

'God, help me…' Michael murmured.

'God isn't here, Michael,' Erik said quietly, kneeling by his side. 'There are no angels in this room. You sold your soul to the devil.'

Michael squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, a tear slipped from under his eyelid.

'Now…' Erik said. 'Slow and painful?'

Michael opened his eyes and glanced up as Erik stood and pulled the noose tight around his throat.

'Erik…'

He stopped, stood for a moment with the length of rope in his hand, ready to pull, to snap Michael's neck.

'Erik, stop,' Christine said, quietly, standing beside him now.

He turned and stared at her, her dark eyes burning into him in a way they never had before.

'You don't need to do this,' She said, softly.

He said nothing.

'You don't,' she shook her head, fixed herself on his eyes.

Still, he stood there, silent. She reached out and placed her hand gently on his, the one holding the end of the rope.

'I'm fine,' she said. 'You're not this person now… it's over.'

Erik dragged his eyes away from her, looking down at Michael who was staring at them, terrified and trembling. He dropped the rope.

'Perhaps,' Erik said, glaring down at Michael but fully aware of Christine's own eyes fixed on his face.

He moved away from Christine, taking his hand back and crouching next to the bruised Michael Bailey.

'Perhaps there is an angel in this room after all,' he whispered, and then stood up straight. 'You're free Michael.'

'You…' he gasped. 'You won't kill me?'

'No,' he said. 'Not this time but Michael… if I ever hear that you or your family have mentioned this to anyone…'

Michael's eyes widened.

'I will kill you…'

Michael nodded.

'I will kill you and destroy your name… and your family name,' he said. 'Your children will never be able to show their faces in public… I will haunt their every living, waking moment and I will haunt their dreams.'

* * *

Erik followed Christine out of the door and past Deborah Bailey in the corridor, her eyes were red and her face was pale. Erik stopped and turned to face her, looked down at her.

'Get away from him,' he said.

'I can't,' she replied and blinked a tear down her cheek.

Erik nodded. 'That's your decision,' he said simply and began to walk away.

'Erik,' she called after him. He stopped but did not turn around. '_I_ won't tell a soul and if _he_ ever does… I'll deny every word.'

Erik nodded.

'I wish I had met you before him,' she said softly.

He ignored her and followed Christine outside, into the back garden. At the end of the pathway there stood a large shed shadowed by the tall trees either side of it. She grabbed his hand, pulled him towards it. He continued without question until they reached the door, which was cracked and rotting.

'What are we doing?' he asked. 'You need to get back to bed.'

'In a minute,' she said, but her voice was weak. She turned and pushed the door open. 'You need to see this.'

He stepped inside the room, if that's what you could call it. The roof had holes, the floor was covered in water, it was cold and damp and there were people, the staff, lying on the cold floor. He scanned the room, saw a low pathetic fire and around ten people trying to sleep.

He glanced at Christine.

'I don't have enough room or need for this much staff,' he said, knowing that she wanted him to save them all. He wasn't that person, he wasn't a hero.

She nodded. 'I understand,' she said softly and wandered into the room leaving him standing at the door.

His mind whirled.

This was how he had once lived.

He swallowed hard.

Christine had been living like this, in this squalor. He closed his eyes briefly, shook the thought away, looked around him.

'Sara,' he heard Christine say and his eyes followed her voice. She was kneeling in the corner by a young girl who was curled into a ball, huddled up under a tiny blanket in the corner.

Christine looked back at him. 'I thought she had consumption…' she said, keeping her eyes on him but her hand on the girls shoulder. 'She hasn't got consumption but she needs to be somewhere… away from here…'

Erik watched as she gently nudged the girl to wake her.

'If you save no one else, Erik,' she said. 'Save my friend.'

He thought for a moment, he would need a maid to replace Christine now that Christine was going to once again be a star.

He nodded.

'Sara,' she whispered as the girl began to come around. 'Did you see?' she asked.

The girl frowned, shook her head.

'You can come with us,' she said softly. 'It's all going to be fine,'

The girl nodded and Erik stepped out of the room and back into the darkness of the garden. The wind was chilly but it was generally a good night, dark but calm. These were the nights he liked the most, the ones he could feel free in. It was a minute or two before Christine and Sara emerged.

'Thank y…' Christine began but suddenly her hands flew to her head and she began to stumble. Erik reached out and caught her as she lost her sense of balance.

'I've got you,' he said quietly, lifting her into his arms.

'You always had me,' she murmured as she blacked out.


	42. The Night

**A/N: Thank you all for the reviews, they were wonderful for the last chapter. I'm hoping to address all questions and thoughts over the course of the next few chapters. Action slows off a bit but don't worry… all will be well.**

**RR **

_Many's the time I ran with you down_

_The rainy roads of your old town_

_Many the lives we lived in each day_

_And buried altogether _

_Don't laugh at me_

_Don't look away** – 'Bedshaped' -Keane**_

**Chapter 42- The Night**

Her eyes drooped until they closed and she forced them, with all of her remaining energy, open again. The yawn escaped and satisfied her briefly and she blinked in the darkness around her as she tried to focus on the moon high above. It was full and round, more of a light orange than anything, it was the strangest colour Fiona had ever seen it but she thought it beautiful all the same. Her eyelids began to drop again and she brought her hands up to her face to rub them firmly.

The sleepiness had come over her quite suddenly as she had spent the vast majority of the evening worrying about her husband. Erik had disappeared a few hours ago without a word to her, nor in all probability, even a thought _for_ her. Fiona knew him well, as well as she thought she ever would and she had settled that that would never really be very much. Basically, she thought, she knew him as well as anyone _could_ know him.

He was quiet and moody, liking his own company and expecting perfection from all of those around him. The negativity made her shake her head as she thought about it.

This wasn't _all_ he was.

Erik was intelligent and talented.

She loved him because of his mind and, as odd as some might find it, his charm and ease around her. Though he didn't laugh much, nor smile much for that matter, he had a dry wit than no one she had ever met could compare to and he still made her laugh with very little effort. He had a charm to him that still made her feel like a puppy in his arms, dependant on him, devoted to him, _loyal_ to him.

More than this there was just something about his eyes. Those eyes that caught most people's attention and, she would readily admit, they had caught hers as well.

She felt a groan escape her as she rested her head back against the seat. Sometimes he was thoughtless though and tonight was one of those times.

Not a word.

He had simply said to Joshua that he would be back soon and then he was gone. Fiona did not even know of his departure until she went to Joshua's room to wish him goodnight and he informed her that his father had gone out.

Somewhere.

As her eyes began to win the battle against her mind she heard the sound of footsteps approach from the side of the house. The sound woke her and her eyes shot open as she turned her head towards the noise. Erik rounded the corner, horse's reigns in one hand, jacket in the other looking straight ahead. She stared at him, his shirt was ripped at the top and his hair had fallen forward. He looked messy but oddly, Fiona thought, attractive.

As he approached she summoned the energy to stand and meet him halfway. It was not until she descended the steps at the front of the house that she noticed Chrissie lying on the horse and a young blonde woman standing behind him.

Erik stopped Oscuridad and lifted his hand to gently rub the length of his nose. The horse snorted quietly with pleasure and nuzzled against Erik's arm. He patted and moved to the saddle where he reached up and pulled Chrissie from the horse, carefully into his arms. It was at the moment that several members of staff ran out, including James.

Jerry, the stable hand of American descent, took the reigns of Oscuridad and led him towards the back of the house. James and the other staff stood quietly by the wall and waited for a response to their presence.

None came from Erik who slowly walked with Chrissie towards the front door.

'Erik,' Fiona said quietly, as he got closer. He glanced at her without saying anything and continued walking. She shook her head. 'Everyone... ' she called, looking at the staff. 'Please, go inside... we shall call you if anyone needs anything.'

The staff murmured a little, something that they did rarely and in this case, Fiona found it entirely forgivable, then they all turned and walked away. The last to leave was a concerned looking James, who shot Fiona one last look before disappearing into the shadows.

After he had gone Fiona hitched her dress so that it was above her ankles and ran into the house to catch Erik. He had just walked through and had reached the bottom of the stairs when she clicked the front door closed behind her.

'What's going on?' she asked, stepping into the centre of the hallway.

Erik glanced over his shoulder. 'I don't want to talk about this,'

'There is an awful lot we don't talk about,' she said quickly, walking towards him. The young blonde girl was standing to his right, looking small and sheepish. As Fiona got closer she shrank away moving around so that she was hidden behind Chrissie's head.

'Then add this to the list,' Erik said quietly. Normally Fiona would have searched his tone for malice or anger but oddly Erik sounded sad.

'Tell me Erik...'

'There's nothing to tell,'

Fiona sighed loudly. 'Why do you do this?' she asked, standing still, her bones aching from tiredness and her heart aching from hurt.

'What?' he asked but didn't snap.

'Lock me out,' she said, feeling the quiver in her voice. 'I can see there is something going on, Erik, I'm not blind. Chrissie is passed out, you've arrived back in the dead of night and you have...' Fiona pointed at the girl, unsure what she really was. 'This young woman at your side.'

'It's difficult to explain,' he sounded tired.

'I'm not stupid,' she said.

He shook his head. 'I never said that you were,' he said softly and placed his foot on the on the bottom step.

'You suggest it,'

'I don't mean to,' he said, as if it was an apology, and started to walk up the stairs, followed by the young blonde girl. Chrissie had not stirred.

'Then explain,' she pleaded, her head pounding.

Erik turned around. 'All you need to know is that Michael Bailey is not the man we thought,' he said and Fiona glanced at Christine's skin, pale and blotchy. 'We won't be spending any time with the Bailey's anymore,'

And then she understood.

* * *

Erik looked at Fiona's sad eyes and wondered how the devil had ended up married to a saint. She was a saint, a _sort_ of saint. She coped with his inconsistencies, she dealt with his moods and she waited for ungodly hours for him to return home only for him to attempt to ignore her. He tried to  
shrug away the sense that he was doing wrong. She stood there, staring at  
him, green eyes watery and soft and he stood there, with another woman  
draped across his arms. 

'This is Sara,' he said, resisting the urge to turn and walk away. He nodded his head at the girl who was nervously stepping from foot to foot in a similar way to the way Joshua did... only this was annoying him.

'Hello, Sara,' Fiona's voice was feather soft as she approached Sara and reached out to shake her hand.

'She'll be taking over from Chrissie,' he said and continued to walk up the stairs.

'Erik,' Fiona called and he stopped, halfway up, holding Christine carefully. He said nothing so she continued. 'I'll talk to you about this later,'

'Show Sara to Chrissie's old room,' he said, climbing further up the stairs. 'She won't be using it now.'

He didn't turn around to look at Fiona, although he had reached the top of the stairs before he heard the door to the dining swing shut. He stepped into the corridor and turned left cradling Christine carefully in his arms as she stirred and murmured incomprehensibly. Her dark hair hung loosely over his harm, her face looked so peaceful yet her flinching suggested otherwise.

The corridor was dark but Christine's pale skin stood out from the shadows. He reached the door at the end of the corridor and backed into it, pushing it open, and carried her inside carefully. When he got the bed he lay her down on the left side and pulled the blanket over her, up to her chin. After glancing back at her, to check that was comfortable, he walked forward and opened the door.

'Erik,'

He turned.

Christine's eyes were open, though she looked tired, and her head was titled towards him but resting on the pillow. Erik gently clicked the door closed again and walked back into the room.

'It's dark,' she said, quietly.

He nodded.

'Can you light a candle?' she asked. 'I can't see you very well.'

There was a candle on the shelf at the far side of the room but Erik made no move towards it. He could see her well enough.

'You don't need to see me,' He said.

'No,' she whispered. 'But I want to.'

He ignored the comment as best he could. 'How are you feeling?' he asked. He saw her shrug, was sure that she had rolled her eyes.

'Weak,' she said. 'Drained.'

'Understandable,' he said, honestly, thinking about the evening that had just past. Trying not to think about the things that Christine had been through.

'I'm sorry...' she whispered.

He frowned. 'What for?'

'For tonight,'

'It wasn't your fault,'

'I want to explain,' she said, and coughed gently. 'My throats dry.'

Erik nodded. 'I'll have James bring you some water,' he turned around again. 'You don't need to explain.'

'I didn't...' she stopped and took a slow breath. 'I never told him that I was lonely.'

Erik looked back at her over his shoulder. 'It doesn't matter if you did,'

'How did you know?' she asked. 'About all of this, about what was happening... I mean, I didn't tell anyone,'

'You don't need to tell me for me to know,'

He saw her nod.

'Is Joshua... is he...'

'He's sleeping,' Erik said, safe in the knowledge that Fiona would have comforted him and taken him to his room.

Again, she nodded.

'I...'

'Sleep,' he said simply, turning his back to her.

'I don't know if I can,'

'Then try,' his voice was quiet, he had attempted firm, authoritative, but what had come out was anything but. 'You need to rest.'

'Can't you wait here until I sleep?' she asked, almost childlike. An innocent tone, sounding much like the one she used to have, back in Paris.

'I have to...'

She sighed. 'Please...'

'Five minutes,'

'Thank you,' she said quietly but by the time he had walked over to the bed her chest was rising and falling softly.

She was fast asleep.


	43. James

**AN: More Christine/ Erik/ Joshua in the coming chapters… this chapter is sort of James oriented.**

**I feel some of you will be disappointed with this chapter, and possibly the next, but don't worry… all of the questions I have been asked will be answered!**

**Thank you as always for those who are reviewing, it means a lot to me that you all read and I hope you are enjoying this. I mentioned in a private reply to someone that I'm sorry I can't please everyone with the outcomes. So far this story has contained many different pairings and attracted all sorts of different 'shippers' I'm never going to be able to make you all happy with whatever ending I put on however I hope to satisfy everyone's curiosity and to tie everything in at the end.**

**By the way- I never give my pairing away before the end… I think it takes the suspense out and stops people from guessing what is going to happen and I think the guessing is always part of the fun for a reader… I know that it is for me. **

**RR**

**Chapter 43- James. **

The morning was bright, the sky was blue and, as James took in the fresh air of the garden, he could not see a cloud at all. He couldn't say that was it warm particularly, but it was nice and certainly milder than it had been recently. He walked over towards Nadir who smiled warmly as he approached.

'Hello friend,' Nadir said, grinning.

James smiled back. 'Good morning,' Nadir placed the bowl he had been holding on the floor then reached out to pat James on the shoulder. 'Can I have one of those?' James asked, nodding at the bowl full of apples.

'You don't like apples,' Nadir said, eyes sparkling onto James.

'It's for Chrissie,' he said quietly, feeling a hot blush creep to his cheeks. Nadir laughed and patted his back. 'She might be hungry,' James said, defiantly, in an attempt to defend his position. Nadir threw him an apple and flashed a grin at him.

'She already had her breakfast,' Nadir said.

'She didn't eat it,' James said, feeling slightly smug.

The feeling quickly vanished. 'How do you know?' Nadir asked, barely able to control his giggles.

This time James' blush crept along his cheeks and down his neck.

'You're very red, James!'

James stared at the apple in his grasp, realised he was holding it far too tightly, then rolled it from hand to hand. When he looked back at Nadir, his face had darkened and grown serious, black eyes focused intently on James' face.

'Listen,' he said, placing his hand on James shoulder and guiding him along the garden path. 'I know you have feelings for her...'

James opened his mouth to protest but Nadir simply held his hand up to stop him.

'I _know_ you have feelings for her,' he repeated, emphasis on know. 'But I think its best you keep them to yourself.'

James nodded. 'I already know that,'

'Erik is...' Nadir appeared to be searching for the right words, he tilted his head, squinted his eyes. Thought carefully. 'Erik is possessive about certain things,'

He shrugged and turned back towards the house.

'Particularly Christine,' he said and James throat became dry at the sound of her real name.

'I've already experienced it,' James said quietly and Nadir glanced sideways at him, lifting his eyebrows into a question. 'He... he grabbed my throat,'

'You were lucky,' he said quietly.

'I did get that feeling,'

'Did he hurt you much?'

James shook his head. 'No,' he said, honestly. 'He _is _strong though, isn't he?'

'Like an ox,' Nadir replied with a nod. 'But it's a more deceptive strength... he doesn't look so strong, does he?'

'No but I suppose now I've expereienced first hand that he is,'

Nadir nodded. 'He used to row a lot … a _lot_ … so I suppose that's where he gets the strength from… made his arms very powerful,'

'He used to row a lot?' James frowned. 'Never mentioned that before,'

'Why would I?'

'Why did he row so much?'

Nadir stopped and thought about it for a second. 'Lived by a lake,' he said quickly.

James also stopped walking and stared at his friend. 'Where?'

'In Paris,' Nadir said. James knew that Erik had lived in Paris but something wasn't right didn't feel right about this conversation.

'They have lakes in Paris?'

Nadir rolled his eyes. 'They have lakes a lot of places,'

'Is there something you're not telling me?'

Nadir laughed but, to James, it sounded uncomfortable.

'There is,'

'Don't be silly, friend,' Nadir said, averting his eyes and walking towards the back door. 'What is the new maid like?'

'Don't change the subject,'

'But the subject is over,' Nadir said, smile forming on his face making his dark eyes twinkle.

James scowled. 'There's lot of hiding things going on around here lately,'

'I'm hiding nothing,' Nadir retorted holding his hands open. James shook his head. He was obviously lying, it happened rarely but Nadir could barely look James in the eye.

James shrugged, attempting to look nonchalant and failing miserably. 'Fine,' he said and opened the back door. Nadir followed him in quietly making James more suspicious of his friend's behaviour. The Nadir that James had always known was hearty and full of energy. The man James knew was always joking and laughing, often drinking, but really only trying to have a good time. This wasn't that man.

James knew him as a very wise and thoughtful man but recently he had wondered more and more about Erik Valesk.

There was certainly more to him than met the eye.

* * *

Christine lay under the soft cotton cover, staring up at the white ceiling. The light from outside slithered through the gaps in the thick curtains and invaded her much sought privacy. No matter how she tried she couldn't shake her thoughts of Erik, the way he had rescued her, how he had known. 

How _had_ he known? When she had asked, his answer was vague and secretive.

Or did he really know her so well that even without her telling him what was happening he did _just_ simply know? She pushed herself into a seated position with her back against the head board, head against the wall and stared straight ahead. Pain shot along her arms and through her body, finishing in her toes and made her wince. It wasn't too severe, not as bad as the day before, but it was still there niggling her.

The thought of the kind Doctor made her smile as she remembered his gentle touch, soft words and warm hands. She had felt comfortable and safe in his presence and it had surprised her when he had he spoken about Erik so warmly. Doctor Walker had a round, soft face, the kind of face that your favourite uncle had, one that made you feel at ease. His voice, though English, reminded her of her own father's and when he had spoken she had closed her eyes.

'Erik is kind to you, I see,' Doctor Walker had said, pressing lightly onto her hip bone. The bruise was dark and round.

She had forced herself to nod at him. Recently, Erik had been most things but kind to her.

'He is a good man,'

Christine was inclined to agree, she always had been, but Erik had often shown himself not to be quite the man people expected.

She cared all the same.

'He is,' she had said softly. _He is_.

'Where is your husband?' It was a question out of the blue, a question she certainly hadn't expected and she had frowned at him.

'Why?' she had asked, confused and concerned. 'What's wrong with me?'

As she had tried to get up he had shook his head, placing careful hands on her shoulders and easing her back down to the bed. She had stared up at him, frightened.

'You must lie down,' he had said. 'Its _very_ important that you rest,'

'Then tell me,'

He had paused, looked at her through gentle eyes. 'Did you know that you were pregnant?' he asked, his voice was quiet.

'Meaning I'm not now,' she asked, feeling her throat close and her heart thud.

He had shaken his head and sighed gently. 'I'm sorry,' he said.

'It's fine,' she had said, but it wasn't. At that moment she had felt that she would never be fine again. It was not the fact that she had wanted a baby, or that she had wanted Michael's baby but it was that he had thrown her against a table and murdered something that he had created to begin with. She wanted him to burn hell and never come back. He didn't deserve to breath the same air as the good people on this earth.

She knew, though, that people like Michael never really got their come up pence.

Most of the time.

She was woken from her daydream by a knock at the bedroom door.

'Room service,' she heard, and couldn't help but smile.

'Come in,' she said and watched as James walked in, holding a cup of water and a red apple. He sat at the edge of the bed and handed her the water. She was grateful and drank it greedily, looking up at him over the rim as a blush began to form on her cheeks. 'Sorry,' she said

'Thirsty?' he asked, but didn't wait for an answer. 'You need to eat.' He held the apple out but she just stared at it. She didn't really feel much like eating at all.

'I don't want people to keep telling me what I need to be doing,' she said quietly, her heart sinking.

'We're only worried about you,' he said kindly and she forced a smile. 'Please?' he waved the apple around in front of him.

'Will you do something for me?' she asked, nervously, without taking the apple from him.

'Of course,' Without hesitation.

'I need...' she stopped, felt embarrassed. 'I need you to wash… I ache and I can't reach… I mean… I need you to help wash me,'

'Are you sure?' he asked, tilting his head when he looked at her. 'I can get one of the other girls.'

Christine shook her head. 'No,' she said. 'I only trust you.'

He nodded and stood. 'I'll get some warm water,' he said and stood up to leave.

* * *

The bowl was warm in his hands as he walked back into the bedroom, eyes on Chrissie, and very nervous. He placed the container on the side table and sat on the bed next to Chrissie. She looked as nervous as he felt but he was hoping that it wasn't showing on his face. 

She shuffled to the right and James made an attempt to swallow the lump in his throat.

'Are you ready?' he asked, looking down at the damp cloth shaking with the motions of his hands.

She nodded and reached down, began unbuttoning her night gown. 'I'm sorry,' she whispered.

'What for?' he said, equally as quietly, feeling his nerves bubbling to the surface. He was suddenly glad that the room wasn't particularly light as he felt his face grow hotter.

'For... this,' she said. 'I couldn't ask anyone else,'

He nodded as she finished undoing her gown and showed him the bruise adorning her hip bone. He glanced at her face, searched her eyes for answers, when he found none he placed the cloth gently onto her skin. He moved the warm water over her hip, cleaned the top of her thigh and her side. The cloth slipped over her skin like silk over silk as he moved to wipe her stomach and the other side of her torso.

He glanced up at her face, she looked tired and frightened, her eyes were fixed on him and her breathing was shallow. He smiled in an attempt to put her at ease. She smiled back.

'What happened?' he asked, out of concern more than curiosity, she had another bruise on her other hip, this one was smaller, more oval. Sort of the shape of a thumb.

She blinked, said nothing.

'It's fine,' James said, regretting making her feel so uncomfortable. 'You don't have to tell me.'

'I was pregnant,' she said, her voice lower than a whisper, so light that James questioned whether or not he had actually heard it.

'I... sorry?' he said.

She sucked in a sharp breath. 'I was pregnant,' she repeated and this time he definitely heard it.

'Who was... who...' James frowned, struggling to get his head around what she was saying. 'Erik Valesk?' he asked suddenly, causing Christine to flinch.

'No,' she said quickly. 'Not Erik,'

Nicely done James, he thought, now she looked angry.

'I'm sorry,' he blurted. 'I didn't mean to offend you...'

'It was Michael Bailey...' she said, looking away from him. 'I wasn't... we weren't having an affair,'

James nodded and moved the cloth over her arm softly.

'I wasn't a willing participant,' she explained quietly, her voice beginning to sound strained.

'He raped you?' James hand had stilled on her arm, he felt anger in his gut, an anger he didn't think he had ever felt before. 'I'll kill him,' he said.

Chrissie began to laugh.

'Why are you laughing?' He didn't know if he was more offended or confused.

'You wouldn't kill him,' she said, turning to look at him.

'I'm angry enough to,' James held her gaze. 'He had no right!'

'No, he didn't,' she said. 'But you're a gentle soul, James, too gentle for murder,'

She placed her hand gently over his, smiled at him.

'Is that what happened last night?' James asked, the thought dawning on him suddenly. 'Were you there? With Monsieur Valask?'

She nodded. 'He... he saved me,'

This time it was James who looked away, focusing his eyes on the door, wondering why he suddenly felt the urge to try to escape.

Why was it that he so desperately wanted to be Erik Valesk? He knew that Valesk had a terrible temper, he knew that he had hurt Chrissie in the past, he knew that he was so insecure that he felt he needed to cover his face and stay on his own... yet he wanted to be Erik Valesk. He wanted to know what it felt like to be so powerful, so in control and to have Chrissie love him. He wanted to know.

'I'm glad,' he said quietly.

'Am I clean?' she asked, placing her hand on his back. 'Don't worry aboutb me,'

'But I do worry about you,' he said quickly.

'You barely know me,'

James turned to face her again. 'And you barely know me yet you trust me enough to let me wash you,' he said. 'We're friends and friends worry about each other sometimes.'

Without warning Chrissie leaned forward and kissed James cheek gently.

'Thank you,' was all she said.


	44. Tears At Dusk

**A/N: Thank you all so much for all of the fantastic reviews for the last two chapters. If I have not replied to you personally for your latest review I will do before the week is out. **

**For those of you who reply anonymously, take my thanks from here and please stick with me!**

**Thank you again!**

**RR**

**Chapter 44- Tears at Dusk.**

It was dark in box five as Erik sat, chin resting in his hand, leaning over the edge to watch the dancers on stage. Antoinette Giry entered quietly behind him, almost sneaking up on him, and he smiled without turning around.

'You're smiling,' she said, softly, a sound so foreign to her lips that he glanced over his shoulder, just to be sure.

He nodded. 'Meg has done very well with the dancers, the outfits look good, the orchestra sound is to a standard acceptable… though I expect more,' he caught the corners of her mouth turn up in the darkness.

'I told you that all would be well,' she said confidently. 'The dancers are ready,'

He nodded again. 'They certainly look ready,'

She walked up and placed her hand delicately on his shoulder, he turned his head, looked up at her.

'Believe me,' she said, her voice full of belief. 'They _are_ ready,'

'I believe you,' he said, moving his eyes back down to the dancers. 'I always believe you,'

'Is Christine ready?' she asked. It was a question he expected, but still, he had no real answer for it.

'I don't know,' he said honestly.

She sat down, looked over the balcony. 'Do you regret your decision?'

'I regret a lot of things about Christine,' he said quietly.

'Is she still ill?'

'She was never ill,'

'You know what I mean,'

He sighed. 'She's improving, it's been a week and she's at least humming the bars,'

'Two weeks until we open,' Antoinette was one of the very few people allowed to state the obvious to Erik. She did it in such a way that it sounded like advice, it sounded as if she were telling him something new. She wasn't, he knew that, but the fact that she was there was enough for him.

After all that they had been through, the trials and tribulations and the loves and losses, she was _still_ there. He had been, probably still was deep down, an evil man. Antoinette Cloivert had known that and, then, Antoinette Giry had too.

He hated to admit it but he was jealous when she had married Patrik Giry, he knew that it would be the start to the end of their long friendship. It wasn't long after their marriage that she had run to Erik, as excited as he had ever seen her, and announced that she was pregnant.

He had felt crushed.

Not because he loved her, not in the way that a man would usually love a woman, but that he wanted their friendship to last an eternity. She had been his only friend, his saving grace in all that had been wrong in his life. As his friend she had kept him warm and healthy, bringing him food and clothing until he had found his own means to do so.

Just over eight months later Meg was born.

As much as he had wanted to, he saw neither of them for months at a time. Every occasion, when she would visit, she would apologise, tell him that she planned to make more time but that being married and raising a child was taking a lot of her effort. At the time Erik remembered wishing that he understood. He didn't, he couldn't.

He didn't understand until there was Christine.

'Are you with me?' Antoinette asked, and Erik blinked his way out of his memories. Her oval face was looking at him, a frown creasing her forehead.

'I'm sorry,' he said.

'You went somewhere,' she smiled, took his hand and squeezed it. A gesture not unfamiliar to him anymore but, still, it made him uncomfortable.

He nodded.

'Where were you?' she asked, eyes still fixed on him.

'In Paris,' he said, simply.

'With Christine?' Antoinette stared.

'No,' he said, meeting her eyes with his. 'I was with you,'

She smiled. Squeezed harder. 'It was different all those years ago wasn't it Erik?'

'Unstoppable us,' he smiled back, he meant it. When they were friends there was nothing anyone could do to them. She would protect him and he would protect her.

'No one has ever had my trust as you have,' she said softly and leaned across, resting her head on his chest.

He slipped his arm around her. 'I know,' he whispered. 'It feels like so long ago,'

'Really?' she asked, sighing, 'It feels to me as though it was only yesterday,'

Erik said nothing, he looked back out over the dancers who were practicing quietly as Meg walked around them.

'Erik,' Antoinette said. He looked down at her. 'Were we really _so_ unstoppable? It seems we've come a long way since then.'

'We had our moments,' he said.

'You were the unstoppable one,' she said quietly, rolling her eyes. 'You and your temper.'

He felt the laugh escape before he had chance to think about stopping it.

'What?' she said, obviously taking note of the chuckle. 'It was bad!'

'Still is,' he said.

She raised her eyebrows. 'I know,' she said. 'Always for the right reasons though,'

He managed a smile.

'If not in the right proportion,' she finished. 'They were cruel to you Erik, you never deserved it.'

'You always say that,' he said, his voice not as warm as he had attempted.

'That's because it's true,'

'I must have deserved it sometimes,' he said. 'People act the way they do for a reason.'

'Not always,' she said. 'Some people are genuinely that mindless.'

'It's over now,' he said, though he wasn't convinced himself.

It must have shown.

'I don't think it will ever really be over,' She pushed herself up to a seating position, no longer resting on his chest she looked into his eyes.

'What's wrong?'

'Could we have ever been in love?' she asked and Erik frowned.

'Under different circumstances, you mean?

'Yes,' she said simply and he could tell that she was gauging him for a reaction.

'We could never have been really in love,' he answered. 'We make such good friends,'

Her smile was so warm he almost wanted to curl up in it and forget what was going on around him. Forget the opera, forget his pain, forget Joshua and Fiona… forget…

'_Now_ you're thinking about Christine,' Antoinette said, lifting her eyebrows at him. 'I've seen that look before,'

He nodded.

'What is it?'

'You know,'

'And Fiona?' Antoinette asked.

'Doesn't know,'

Antoinette laughed. 'Christine still steals your thoughts Phantom and Fiona hasn't noticed?' she said.

'Christine steals my thoughts because I don't know what to do about Joshua,' He said, it was true, he thought.

'Now that is a dilemma,' she sighed. 'What does your heart tell you?'

Erik smiled sadly. 'It rarely tells me anything,'

'He deserves to know,'

'And what will that do to him?'

'You don't know until you tell him,'

Erik grunted and stared back out at the stage.

'Are you afraid of losing him?' she asked, walking around to stand behind him she put a hand on either shoulder.

'No,'

'Erik,' she said, her tone becoming harsh. 'This is me you're talking to.'

'I don't want him to think that I lied to him to hurt him,'

'You know as well as I do that he isn't stupid,' Antoinette said simply.

'He's still a child,'

'What were you like as a child?'

Erik scowled.

'Just think about it,' she said, leaning forward and kissing the back of his head. 'I better go down and have them start again,'

He nodded.

'What she said to you…'

'When she fainted?'

'Yes,' Antoinette said, backing towards the door but her eyes were still fixed on him. 'How did that make you feel?'

'Like it's all too little too late,'

'_Really_?' Antoinette said but, before he had chance to answer her scepticism, he heard the curtains swish shut and a door click behind him. Then he sat quietly, staring out at the orchestra pit and listened to her footsteps getting gradually quieter until they vanished into the staircase.

* * *

Christine tossed and turned, pushed the blanket from her legs then leaned over and pulled it roughly back up again. She was feeling more mobile, more able to get out of bed, but still they all insisted she stay there. It was starting to grate. She was no longer the person that could happily lie in bed and listen to the birds on her window sill. She wanted more now, wanted to go out, wanted to _see_ the birds. 

She sat up, glanced over towards the window and then looked longingly towards the door. She felt as though she had been trapped in the room for years, it felt like an eternity. Shaking her head she wondered what had happened to her. Her few months with Raoul had had her living almost this way. There was staff, maids and butlers, a chef… even someone specially hired just to draw her a _perfect_ bath.

She grimaced inwardly. Christine de Chagny existed no more.

James had been to see her that morning, managed to talk her into eating her breakfast, left her with another apple and another cup of fresh water. She appreciated James. It felt so good to have a genuine friend, the type that she felt she could trust implicitly. Still, he was with _them_. The school of people who thought, ridiculously, that she needed to spend all of her life in bed. As if she was some sort of invalid.

She wasn't.

She was far tougher than that now, she could take more, and she had _lived_ more.

Groaning, she threw herself backwards so that she was lying in the centre of the bed splayed out like a rag doll. The ceiling stared down at her like the ominous shadow of a prison guard and she looked away, back towards the window.

She was about to give in to her urge to leave the room when their was a very faint knock at the door. She turned her head and then quickly pulled the covers back over her.

'Come in,' she said, holding the cotton in two balled up fists. If this was James with another apple he would be in serious trouble, she was eating perfectly well.

It wasn't James and rather than relax Christine felt her body instantly tense back up.

Joshua had his hands behind his back and he smiled at her affectionately.

'Hello,' he said quietly, standing next to the door as it closed with a snap.

She swallowed hard and felt the lump stick in her throat. 'Hello,' she forced a smile, hoping that she looked casual.

'I though I would see if you were feeling better,' Joshua said, taking a tentative step in to the room.

'I appreciate that,' Christine said, feeling her palms become sticky.

'_Are_ you feeling better?' he asked. Another step.

'Much better,' she said, thinking that she hadn't see him since she collapsed in his presence.

'I'm glad to hear it,' he said. Closer.

Christine wanted to reach out but resisted. 'Does your father know you're here?' she asked.

'No,' Joshua replied. 'You won't tell him will you? He said that you need to rest…'

'I won't tell him but you don't want to disobey him too often,' she said, but inside she was thanking the heavens that he had. 'He will lose his faith in you if you lie to him.'

'Oh, I don't lie to him,' Joshua said, an earnest expression spreading across his delicate face. 'If he asks then I will tell him.'

Christine smiled, she couldn't help herself. Erik had raised him well.

'Are you going to come all the way in then?' she asked, watching him hover uncertainly halfway between the door and the bed.

Joshua nodded and walked slowly over to the bedside. He looked towards the chair then reached out and pulled it up to the side of the bed.

'I was worried about you,' Joshua said as he sat down.

'You shouldn't worry about me,' she said. 'Worrying isn't good for you and I can take care of myself.'

Joshua looked dejected.

'But thank you,' she said quickly and then watched as his face beamed a smile.

'Did you like singing with me?' he asked, looking at her carefully.

'Yes,' she said, the word caught in her throat and came out in a ragged breath. More than you know, she thought, _more than you know_.

'Perhaps we can do it again,' Joshua said, still seemingly studying her face. 'If you like.'

'I would like that very much,' she said, her heart thudding.

'We can have fun,' he said.

'You have friends too though Joshua, you don't want to spend all of your time with me,'

'Can't you be my friend?' he asked and Christine once again felt her heart lurch.

'Of course,' Unsure what else she could say.

Joshua thought for a moment. 'I don't have many friends,' he said quietly.

'Why not?' she asked, watching as the sadness, which began at the down curl of his lips, reached his eyes.

'They don't like me,'

Christine frowned. 'Who?' she asked.

'The other boys,'

'Why do you think that they don't like you?'

'They told me,'

'What did they say?' she asked, her heart sinking back into the pit of her stomach.

'That they didn't like because I was too clever for my own good,'

She closed her eyes. 'Have they hurt you?' _please no_.

He shook his head. 'No, they just don't want to play with me,' he said. 'I have some friends… they're like me though, spend lots of time at home.'

'It's not such a bad thing,' she said. 'Just look at your father,'

'I want to be like him,' Joshua said proudly.

'I think a lot of men do,'

He nodded. 'You look like my mother.'

Christine stopped breathing, her world began to turn around her as she stared at Joshua's soft blue eyes focused on her face.

'I mean…' he said, thinking. 'I've never seen her but papa says that she had dark hair and dark eyes and that she was very beautiful… I'm sure she was beautiful like you're beautiful.'

Without asking or saying another word at all Joshua jumped up and crawled onto the bed next to Christine. He pushed himself into her body and curled up into her arms. She felt the wetness of his tears on her chest before she heard his gentle sobs.

'Shh,' she whispered. 'Don't cry.'

'I'm tired,' he murmured and Christine, without knowing what else to do, wrapped her arms around his tiny body and held him close.

'Don't cry,' she whispered.

_I'm here, I love you_.


	45. Music Room

**A/N: Thank you all so much. The reviews are wonderful!**

**Hope this chapter is ok…**

**RR**

**Chapter 45- Music Room.**

It was Friday morning, the week before the Opera was due to open, Christine's stomach was twisted into knots as she sat in the music room waiting for Erik to arrive. He had taken Joshua to a friend's house, a friend Joshua had told her that he was studying with. A friend Joshua had told her was really his only one.

The sun was beaming through the large open window, it felt hot against her skin and she sighed as she stared out longingly at the garden. She hadn't been out in weeks but it felt like an eternity. Her body and her mind had, over the years, become so accustomed to freedom, the feeling of the breeze on her body and the raw sun on her face. Even the winter chills were welcome to her as being outside represented a liberty she rarely felt indoors.

She had even come to long for the night.

The doctor had advised that she stay inside as much as she could due to the winter still being on them, though Christine noted that it was fading fast. She understood that the doctor was doing what Erik paid him too and that was to look after her. Even sitting there alone she realised that Erik was enforcing the doctor's words so strictly because, in his own way, he still cared for her. She took the band from around her wrist and pushed her hair back, tying it up carefully and patting the top down so that it was straight. She looked around for a mirror but there wasn't one.

It was obvious that this was _really_ Erik's room.

It must have been a further ten minutes before she heard the familiar sound of the music room door creaking open behind her. She stood, out of respect but not fear, and turned around. Erik walked in and removed his jacket, lay it over the back of the settee and walked towards her. In his hand was a folder she had never seen before but poking out of the top she could see a score. It looked old and weathered and she tried, without giving herself away, to read the writing at the top. It was in French and in Erik's elegant hand writing but she was too far away to read it. He placed the file on top of the piano, and sat down at the seat.

'How are you feeling?' he asked, looking her slowly up and down, as if checking that she was not broken or damaged.

'Not too bad,' she said honestly, though she would like to be outside, she thought.

'Good,' he said simply. He took one last look at her and then looked back at the keys. 'How are you finding the finale?'

'I think I've got it,' she said and smiled. She thought, but couldn't be sure, that she saw the corners of his mouth turn up too as he read through the papers he had in front of him.

'You know all of the words and all of the changes...' he said, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. 'It's a complicated arrangement,'

'Erik...' she said.

'I know,' he said. 'You've got it.'

She nodded. 'Are we going to run through it?' she asked, watching his face, suddenly unable to take her eyes off _his_ face.

'From start to finish,' he said, and stretched his arms out in front of him, placing his hands softly over the keyboard.

'All of the way through?' she asked, feeling a lump in her throat. It was a sign that the opening was approaching fast, she thought, and soon she would be in dress rehearsal. Had she been with him at the beginning, right from the start, she would be confident and she would have rehearsed tens of times. She had only had one month to learn all of this.

He nodded. 'In it's entirety,'

Her eyes drifted over him, over the broadness of his shoulders, the muscle of his arm showing through his white shirt. They found their way to his hands and then his fingers, their long graceful elegance hovering over the white and black keys. Finally, they moved over his chest and reached his face, the mask on one side, the other as smooth and as chiselled as the day she had met him.

'Are you ready?' he asked and she suddenly realised that she was still staring.

'Umm...' she fumbled. 'Yes,'

He lifted his hands, ready to place them on the keys.

'No!' she said and he looked up at her, surprised.

'I don't need to do this...' she said, staring at him. 'I need to rehearse with the cast... with someone else.'

He blinked but said nothing in response.

'What I mean is that I keep just... letting you play where they are supposed to sing,' Christine sighed. 'I need to practise properly.'

'Tomorrow,' he said simply.

'I know that's what we agreed,' she said moving closer to the piano. 'But I just don't think this is helping.'

He thought for a moment. 'As much as I respect that...'

'Erik,' she said, then chastised herself inwardly for sounding like a spoilt child. 'Then _you_ sing the part of Dominic.'

'No,'

'Why not?'

'I don't sing,'

'Yes you do,' she said sharply. 'You sing beautifully.'

'I don't sing anymore,' he corrected. 'Not anymore.'

She looked at him, took in the colour of his eyes, noted the dark shadows around the skin underneath them and then she simply shook her head.

'You don't want to rehearse?' he asked.

'I want to rehearse but I want to rehearse with at least one other person singing the other part.' she said, an overwhelming weight bearing down on her shoulders.

He nodded, eyes searching her for ... something. 'Fine,' he said, standing abruptly. 'Then you rehearse with the rest of the cast tomorrow...'

'Why won't you sing with me?' she demanded, glaring at him, furious with  
him.

'Why do _you_ want me to so badly?' he asked.

She stopped, felt the familiar feeling of tears prick her eyes. 'Forget it,' she said quietly.

He stepped away from the stool, eyes locked onto her. 'What happened to  
you?' he asked angrily.

'I'm stronger now,' she hissed. 'Stronger than you _ever_ allowed me to be.'

'I never stopped you from doing anything,' he growled. 'You stopped yourself.'

'What about Raoul?'

'Did I stop you?' he asked, his tone hard and edged.

'You were going to kill him,'

His eyes grew bluer. 'But I didn't,'

They stood there for a long moment, both seemingly conceding this point yet both adamant that they were right, but for what reason? What was this actually achieving for either of them?

'Enough,' he said quietly, raising his hand and pinching the top of his nose, he squeezed his eyes shut. 'I've had enough, you can rehearse with the cast tomorrow... do what you like tonight.'

She looked away from him. _Don't cry Christine_...

'Stay out of my way,' he said, his voice was cool but not angry. He turned and lifted his folder from on top of the piano but as he pulled it away the papers fell out and scattered onto the ground. Christine knelt down quickly and picked up the first page.

'Don Juan...' she whispered and then looked up at him.

'Give it to me,' he said. It was not a request. She held it out, let him take it from her before continuing to scoop the rest of the papers up. She wondered why he wasn't helping her but one look up at his pale face suggested he was frozen to the spot. There was something in these papers he was hoping she would not see.

Christine picked each piece up one by one, trying not to let him see her reading the top of each page. There were lyrics, music, notes but, other than 'Don Juan Triumphant', there were no surprises.

No surprises, at least, until she lifted the final two pieces from the pile. As she began to stand with them in her left hand a smaller, darker piece floated out from between them and fell slowly to the floor. Erik stepped forward but she quickly crouched back down and reached out to grab the piece of paper. It was old and worn, yellow in colour but brown around its fraying edges. The writing was on the side that had fallen to the floor and she turned it around in her hands to look at it.

She read the first line, blinked and read it again.

'"My dearest Erik",' she whispered, mostly to herself. She scanned the first few lines. Glancing up at him briefly she continued to read. '"Hear me Erik for I know that you listen, I know that you understand what it is to be hunted".'

Erik's eyes left her face.

She took a breath. '"I love you more than I could ever love Raoul…"' her voice trailed off as she stared at him. Erik's eyes were closed.

'"Move on with your life but take Joshua with you and love him as if I were with you both_…"' _ It came out as a quiet murmur squeezing past her lips.

She remembered the day that she wrote it, she remembered it all so well. Christine lifted the paper to her face, smelled its edge, wondered if the smell of her home still gripped its ink. It didn't, it was gone… as was her home.

The day she had written the letter was humid and oppressive, she was sitting in a small room at the back of an old inn in tatty clothes, smelling of dirt and God knows what else. Joshua was clean, as clean as she could make him, and he was sleeping peacefully in the corner. She thought back and remembered thanking the Lord that Joshua just simply did not understand what was happening to them.

Raoul was gone.

They had come early evening, forced their way past the butler and killed the guard with one pistol shot to the chest. Christine would never forget the sound of his groans as he gurgled, choking on his own blood. She squeezed her eyes closed, she could see him in her memory.

Joshua was as quiet as a mouse in the room near the garden, Christine could see through the gap in the door and quickly realised that she must escape, she knew who these people were.

They had no other intention but to kill them all.

She recalled scooping Joshua up carefully and quietly, tucking him into her chest wrapped in a blanket. The door to the cellar was just to her left and she gingerly made her way towards it, hoping that the old floorboards of the house would not creak under her clumsy step. They didn't. She made it to the cellar, ran inside and locked it behind her.

_This_ was what she had learnt from Erik.

She had placed Joshua carefully on the bench and scurried as quietly as she could towards the pile in the corner. Underneath had hidden a bag containing some clothes and some food, blankets and a sum of money. She took the basket and lay Joshua in it, covering him with one of the spare blankets. Then, she remembered, she crawled towards the corner and slid the panel aside uncovering a small secret passageway. She knew where it led, she knew where she was going.

It was then that she had heard the second shot and the sound of Raoul's detached voice screaming her name. She had actually considered going back, trying to save him but one look down at Joshua changed her mind. He was more important than either of them.

She clawed her way through the tunnel until she was at the back of the garden, from there she could see men at the back door, the staff on their knees about to be executed simply for being there. She remembered being sad and disgusted but she did not cry. After this she had a job to do. There was only one way that she knew to save her son.

_Erik_.

She shook the thoughts from her mind and looked up from the letter to the man before her. He had opened his eyes, his face was ashen.

'Eternally…' she whispered.

Erik held out his hand. 'Please,' he said.

Eyes wide she obeyed, placing the letter carefully in his hand. 'Erik...'

'Don't.' he said sharply.

She stared at him as he turned and began to walk away. 'Please…' she begged.

He didn't stop, he reached the door and opened it an inch.

'Why?' she said, too loudly.

He glanced quickly over his shoulder. 'Why what?' he asked quietly.

'Why have you kept it?' she asked.

His shoulders moved in a shrug and he walked from the room.

'Erik!' she called, struggling to her feet.

It was a minute before she reached the door and when she finally did, out of breath and light headed, he was nowhere to be seen.


	46. Sing for Me

**A/N: Thank you all yet again for the wonderful reviews, they keep me going. **

**I was listening to 'Hello' by Evanescence when I wrote the first part of this chapter and then the second… well, you'll know.**

**RR**

**Chapter 46- Sing For Me.**

The uneasiness between them had grown significantly since the incident with the letter. Christine attempted small talk in the build up to rehearsals, Erik grunted troubled replies. Conversation about what was going on in her life had never been one of Christine's fortes and, as her heart _craved_ opening up to him, her mind pulled back every single time and therefore, they were stuck hanging in limbo.

It was not that she thought that Erik would reciprocate anything anymore, or that he would even answer her questions, but she wanted him to know.

She loved him.

She had _always_ loved him.

She thought that she at least deserved an explanation as to why he had kept her letter for so long. It had been nearly eight years and he still kept it, with the things that mattered most to him, he kept it with his music.

Christine sighed inwardly as she looked up to the chorus in full costume, singing on the stage. She was seated just behind Erik, who was next to Madame Giry and behind Nadir, all three of them were watching carefully, or at least they appeared to be, she thought.

Christine had never really realised just how close Erik and Madame Giry were. They sat leaning towards each other, she would occasionally touch his arm and he would point at the stage and whisper, quite comfortably, into her ear. There was a note off pitch and she saw Erik's profile scrunch into a pained frown. She distinctly heard Antoinette Giry tell him not to worry, they were simply nervous in his presence.

And quite rightly, Christine thought.

The ball was that evening and Erik would be going with Fiona to introduce people to most of the cast. Most of the cast aside from her. As she understood it she was not going because she was to be unveiled, as it were, on opening night tomorrow. According to Meg all of England's most famous people would be there, and its richest too, in fact, the Queen herself might even put in an appearance.

Erik had hired two guards for every door, there would be absolutely no gate crashers.

Erik had seemed pleased with all of Christine's rehearsals in the week, he had told her that the more she sang the better she got and he had not doubt that by opening night she would be more than ready. Christine had blushed but said nothing and Erik had simply wandered away leaving her in the glow of his compliment.

It was rare that he complimented her… it was rare that he complimented _anyone_.

He demanded perfection.

'Stop!' he called and the conductor turned to face him. 'Everyone can go home.'

They stared at him, unsure what to do, they were sure that they should be staying late, until at least dusk began but he simply waved his hand. The chorus, after a moments hesitation, started to wander away from the stage slowly.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. 'You can go too,' he said simply and looked back towards the orchestra pit.

Madame Giry stood and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder before giving him a warm smile and then walking away with Nadir. Christine sat frozen until the sound of the doors closing at the rear echoed around them.

'I said you can go,' he said, without looking at her.

'Are you sure?' she asked, standing slowly. What a stupid question, she thought, but stayed still none the less.

He nodded. 'Of course,' he replied. 'You sound very good, there's no need for more rehearsal.' He paused. 'Really there seems no point in straining your voice anymore.'

'Thank you,' she said quietly and felt the blush attack her cheeks once more.

She shuffled her way along the row of seats and then turned towards the back of the room, following the aisle until she reached the door. When she did she turned around and looked back into the room. Erik was still sitting in the seat in the middle of row C, still staring forward, still silent. She watched him for a moment, waiting for him to move, when he did not she simply pushed the door open and left him there alone.

The foyer was full of members of the chorus milling around talking to each other. Meg smiled at her from the other side of the room and waved her hand, beckoning her over. Christine made her way through the small crowd to her friend and kissed her cheek gently.

'You were all wonderful,' she said and Meg's smile broadened.

'Do you think so?' she asked.

'I wouldn't say so if I didn't,'

'Was _he_ pleased?' She looked at her hands.

'He seemed it,' Christine smiled. 'He wouldn't have let all of you leave if he wasn't.'

Meg nodded. 'I suppose you know him better than we do,'

'I wish I did,' Christine said quietly.

'Don't be silly,' Meg said. 'Of course you do.'

'I'm not so sure anymore, Meg,' she sighed. Her friend touched her shoulder as the sound of her mother's voice came from the exit.

'Are you ready?' she called and Meg turned to face her.

'I'm coming,' she said and turned back to Christine. 'I have to go,'

'I know,'

'I'll see you before the show tomorrow,' Meg said, leaning forward and pulling Christine in for a long hug. 'Goodnight,'

With that Meg began to make her way through the exiting dancers and chorus singers, towards where her mother was standing. One by one everyone left, shuffling along, until the door swung shut and left Christine standing alone in the middle of the foyer, in its ghostly silence.

She left out a quiet sigh and started to walk towards the door.

_Shawl_.

Shaking her head she groaned and walked back in towards the double doors leading to the rear of the main hall. Disbelief washed her mind as she struggled to remember where she had last seen her shawl. She became more than sure that it was still in her seat in row E and headed back to retrieve it. As she approached the door she heard the gentle sounds of piano, she pushed the door open an inch and peered in.

The room was dark, Erik must have had the stage hands put out most of the lights, and there he sat, alone at the Piano situated in the corner of the stage. The piano was a prop, or at least she had thought it was.

The sound of the notes was eerily calm and found all of the corners of the room yet still managed to be soft and inoffensive. This was the Erik that she had known all of those years ago. The man that, in his solitude most of all, was a master at all arts.

Music being his favourite.

Waiting for a long moment she listened quietly as he ran his fingers slowly across the keys, sound leaping from them that she _knew_ no one had ever made before. It was at that moment, when she allowed herself to be swept up in its beauty, that another sound appeared.

It was his voice.

He sang.

Oh, how he sang, _how he sang._

His voice was quiet at first, so quiet she strained to hear… so quiet that the _angels_ strained to hear.

Then it simply grew.

It built slowly, along to the melody that the piano still gently unfolded, and it built strongly. The sound came from deep in his body, as he had taught her, he sent the sound out through his soul. It echoed around the building, pleasing its ears as it pleased her to finally hear it. _How long had it been_?

She rested her head against the door frame and closed her eyes, allowed the music to wash over her body and take her away. This feeling that she was free, the feeling that she was at home, that she was comfortable… the feeling swept into her veins like rivers into the ocean.

And all it took was the sound of his voice.

It was perfect. Every note, every change, every sentiment and every word. He was as clear as a bell yet so much more subtle, so much more gentle. Christine had no idea what he was singing, she had never heard it before. She didn't understand what he was singing nor did she care particularly because he was _singing_.

How she had missed this.

Had she missed this more than anything, she thought, eyes still squeezed shut?

She clutched her dress in a fist against her heart, let her ears soak in the splendour of this peacefulness, this ultimate tranquillity that allowed her to stand in the darkness of the theatre and listen to Erik sing.

She must have been there but a minute when the sound stopped.

'I know you're there,' he said and Christine opened her eyes with a start. 'Christine,'

She stepped into the room and closed the door gently behind her. Slowly she made her way along the aisle and down towards the stage. It was dark but somehow she knew where she was and she knew her footing.

'How…'

'I know all,' he said quietly, but he didn't look down at her.

Christine walked behind the orchestra pit and found the bottom of the steps to the right of the stage. She climbed them gingerly, and walked towards the piano stopping when she finally reached its side.

'I told you to leave,' he said.

'I forgot my shawl,' she said honestly and without looking at her he smiled and pointed to the corner of the stage. Her white shawl was resting on the edge.

'You really can go now,'

'I don't remember putting that there,' she said.

He nodded but stared straight ahead. 'You didn't,'

'Then…'

He glanced at her briefly. 'Take it,'

She nodded and strode to the far end of the stage. Carefully she bent down and picked it up, rested it over her shoulders and began to walk towards the steps.

Stopping she turned to face him, he was looking at the keys, away from her.

She took a deep breath. '(1)_You have brought me, to that momen, where words run dry, to that momen, where speech disappears, into silence, silence ...'_

She paused, eyes fixed on him, he didn't look up but he had flinched.

Continuing to sing: '_I have come here, hardly knowing the reason why ...' _she moved slowly towards him, watching him, waiting for him to say something. He didn't move, didn't make a sound. '_In my mind, I've already imagined our bodies entwining…' _she took a breath_. 'Defenceless and silent - and now I am here with you: no second thoughts, I've decided…'_

He looked up at her.

'I've decided…' she whispered. Erik leaned back, staring up at her. The darkness of the room cast shadows on his already dark face. She saw the blue of his eyes, the softness of his lips. Saw the bead of sweat hiding under his hairline.

She moved in front of the piano, so that she was between him and the keys. His Adam's apple bobbed.

'When will the blood begin to race, the sleeping bud burst into bloom?' her voice was a low whisper. 'When will the flames at last consume _us_…'

His eyes were fixed on her as her throat began to dry, her body trembled and she realised where she was, what she was doing. Suddenly, nerves overwhelmed her, her body began to hurt… her eyes were locked onto his. She could not move, she could barely breath.

Swiftly Erik pushed the seat back, sending it flying across the stage and he moved forward grabbing Christine's waist and pushing her hard against the keys of the piano. The feeling of his lips pressed fiercely against hers overrode the clattering noise from the piano.

He moved his lips from hers and placed them against her ear. 'Say you'll share with  
me one love, one lifetime ... Lead me, _save_ me, from my solitude ... Say you want me  
with you, here beside you ... Anywhere you go let me go too…' he whispered, lips touching her ear as they moved.

She closed her eyes, felt her throat tighten. '_Erik…_'

Suddenly, he pushed himself away and stared straight into her eyes. Her eyes felt wet and strained… his were cold and blue, flecked with silver and gold streaks.

He stepped back shaking his head. '_This_ is the part where _you_ tear my mask off,' he spat as he walked away leaving Christine wide eyed and shaking against the piano.

* * *

(1) 'Past the Point of No Return,'- _Phantom of the Opera_, Andrew Lloyd Webber.

Unfortunately I do not own this either.


	47. At The Ball

**A/N: So sorry for slow update. Very long chapter. **

**This is completely unedited so please excuse typos. I am very busy with work but I will try to update more often!**

**RR**

**Chapter 47- At The Ball.**

Erik wandered through the large, open doors of his home searching for Fiona. To his surprise she had not greeted him when he returned home, as she usually did, and now she was simply nowhere to be seen. The kitchen was empty, cook had gone back to his wife for the evening, and the night was slowly drawing in.

As he ascended the stairs he reached up and touched his lips, remembered the sensation of Christine's lips pressed there. He rested briefly against the banister and closed his eyes. _Why_, Christine?

'Papa,' he had been so caught up in his own mind he had not heard Joshua's gentle footsteps approach from the top of the landing. 'Are you alright?'

Erik looked up and nodded. 'Yes,' he said, starting to climb the stairs again. 'Are you?'

'Yes thank you,' he said.

'Have you seen Fiona?'

Joshua nodded. 'She is in bed,'

'In bed?' Erik said, with a frown.

'She is not feeling well,' Joshua answered and Erik nodded, reaching out to touch the boys hair as he moved past him.

When he arrived at his bedroom the door was slightly ajar and the room inside dark. He pushed the door open and stepped inside quietly. The drapes were drawn, blocking out the fading sun, there were no lights on or candles burning and Erik walked quietly over to the bed.

'Erik,'

He glanced down at Fiona and then sat on the edge of the bed. 'What's wrong?' he asked, placing his hand on her forehead. 'You're hot.'

'I think I have a cold,' she whispered.

'A headache too?' Erik asked, quietly.

She nodded gently. 'I thought I would be able to sleep it off,'

'It's been a while since you had one of these headaches,' he said, stroking her hair back away from her face. She closed her eyes.

'I know,' she murmured.

'Is there something on your mind?' he asked, running his hand around to stroke her cheek. In the darkness her usually rosy cheeks looked pale against the pillows.

He saw her shrug. 'I don't know,' she said.

'Do you want to talk to me?' he asked, it was a question that was rarely spoken from his lips.

'Not right now,' she said gently. 'I need to try to sleep.'

'And you should,' he began to stand.

'What about the ball?' she managed to say as her eyes closed once again.

Erik leaned down and pressed his lips gently to her forehead. 'It doesn't matter,'

'Are you sure?' she asked, opening her eyes to look at him. Even in the blackness her eyes were as emerald as the dewy morning grass.

He nodded. 'Of course,' he said. 'Rest.'

'And you'll tell me your stories when you get back?' she asked.

'Don't I always?' he asked as he straightened and moved away from the bed. He watched the smile form over her lips and her eyes drop closed once again.

* * *

Erik was leaning against the door frame to the bathroom when she walked into the spare bedroom. She had not expected him to be there and she jumped when his shadow moved across the window. Instead of speaking he walked slowly towards her and stood at the end of the bed, his eyes fixed on her face. She was embarrassed about what she had done earlier but the kiss was still lingering seductively on her lips. He had kissed her so hard that she felt bruised but she knew it was simply the sensation of his power clinging to her skin.

The post of the bed made a good rest for his hand and he stayed there for a long moment, silently surveying Christine's figure. She felt as his eyes moved over her and then back to the bed. She watched him carefully.

'This is for you,' he said, moving his hand across to show her the dress lying flat on the bed. She wondered why she had not noticed it when she walked in but a quick look at Erik answered her question.

She had eyes for no one and nothing but him.

'Why?' she asked.

He sighed and stepped past her towards the door. 'For the ball,' he said and punctuated with a shrug.

'I didn't think I was going,'

'Well, now are you,' He said quickly.

'How will...'

'You're going with me,' he said, interrupting her before she had chance to finish her sentence. 'Fiona isn't coming.'

Christine frowned, confused. 'Why not?'

'She's not feeling well,' he answered. 'So you have around an hour to get ready.'

'I don't know if I should go,'

Erik stared at her for a long moment and Christine felt her hands begin to tremble. She tucked them behind her back, hiding them from his view.

'I mean,' she continued, feeling nervous. 'I didn't think... I'm not prepared.'

'For what?' he asked.

She sighed quietly. 'For a ball.'

'What is there to prepare for?'

'I haven't been to a ball in years,' she whispered.

'You're going with me,' he said, hand resting on the door handle. He glanced at her as if this was the answer to her concerns.

'I...'

He opened the door. 'Just be ready in the hour,' he said and then he was gone.

* * *

The dress was a deep red.

The dress was such a deep red that it was almost black in some shades of the flickering candlelight.

The dress was such a deep red, so almost black in the light that when it hugged her body and she walked she looked like she was a liquid.

She walked like she was blood.

Christine moved her hands down to smooth the front of the dress as she wandered past the mirror at the top of the stairs. She glanced at herself, turned to the side.

'You look lovely,'

Christine jumped. 'James!' she said, clutching her hand to her heart. 'Don't sneak up on people like that.'

'Sorry,' he said smiling. 'But you do.'

She felt the blush creep along her exposed shoulders and up to her neck. By the time it reached her face she was hot and flustered, staring down at her feet. She couldn't remember the last time she had had a _real_ compliment about the way she looked. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she looked good enough to get a compliment.

'I look fine,' she said quietly.

'Fine?' he gasped dramatically. 'You look more than fine, you look… amazing.'

'Enough,' she said, her cheeks growing hotter.

'I'm just telling you the truth,' he said. 'The colour looks wonderful on you,'

Christine opened her mouth to protest but she was interrupted. 'It does suit you,'

She glanced at Erik who was standing at the top of the stairs looking at them both.

'Are you finished?' he asked and Christine wasn't sure if Erik meant her or James.

She nodded and, if it was James that Erik was speaking to, he certainly seemed to take the hint as he stepped back.

'Have a pleasant evening,' he said politely, nodding to Erik and shooting Christine a sly glance as he walked away.

'He's right,' Erik said simply as he turned his back to her and began to descend the staircase. She stood still for a moment, unsure what to do as she watched him walk away. It was a moment before he stopped and glanced back over his shoulder. 'Are you coming?'

She nodded and followed him down the stairs.

* * *

The ball was held in the large town hall with it's sweeping stair cases and tall arched doorways. The whole building was brilliant white, so pure and clean that it almost felt wrong for her to be there. Nothing in her life had been pure and clean. Not for a long time, at least.

Until they had arrived at the door to the Hall Erik had not uttered a word. Christine was beginning to think that he would not speak to her for the entire evening.

Stepping down from the carriage he looked back up at her and held out his hand. 'So this is your unveiling,' he said, guiding her from the trap. She followed him as he led her towards the side of the building.

'Where are we going?' she asked.

'I can't have them see you yet,' he said simply and led her to the door at the side. The man at the door, tall and stocky, removing his hat and nodded his head.

'Thank you, Frank,' Erik said, as he moved past him closely following by Christine. She was becoming increasingly more nervous, her heart felt as though it was racing in her chest.

'Have a good evening, Mister Valesk,' the guard said and Erik turned around, nodded and then continued to lead Christine through the back corridors of the building.

'You didn't build this,' Christine said quietly.

Erik turned his head to look at her as they walked. 'No,' he said.

'I mean…' she said, feeling her throat begin to close. 'It is beautiful… isn't it?'

He glanced at her again. 'I suppose it is,' he said, distracted as he made his way along the hallway.

'But it's not…' she searched for the word. 'No, that's not it… it's too _false_…'

He looked at her with his eyebrows raised.

'What I mean is that it doesn't seem real,' she continued. 'As if the person who designed it just sort of dropped it here as it is without any emotion or effort at all.'

Erik carried on walking.

'It's nowhere near as beautiful as one of your buildings,' she whispered as he turned the corner and placed his fingertips on the handle of the door. 'It isn't like the theatre… it just isn't that elegant.'

'That sounds almost like a compliment,' he said, with no emotion.

'It was,' she said simply as they reached the door at the far side of the room.

'Right,' he said, standing still. 'This leads out on to the main staircase overlooking the hall where the ball is taking place.'

She nodded.

'In ten minutes the host will come in and fetch us… we will be introduced and then…' he shrugged. 'You can _mingle_.'

She choked out a laugh.

'What?' he said, staring at her.

'Mingle,' she said. 'When did you learn that word?'

He shook his head. 'Don't mock me,' he said quietly.

She laughed harder. 'I'm not mocking you,' she said. 'It just… it sounded so painful when you said it…' she gagged on her laughter. 'I'm sorry…'

She couldn't be _absolutely_ sure and she would never testify to it in front of judge but she thought that she saw the corners of his mouth turn up as he looked away.

* * *

Erik and Christine waited in silence in the room until they heard the gentle tap at the door. Erik shot a glance back towards her before opening the door and letting the guard in.

'All of the guests are here, sir,' he said, with a small nod of his head.

'Thank you,' Erik said. He turned to Christine. 'Are you ready?'

'As I'll ever be,' she said quietly and Erik felt a sigh creep into his mouth.

'After you,' he said, stifling the sigh and moving aside so that Christine could glide past him.

It had been a long time since he had seen her look so light on her feet. Her face was showing gentle signs of nerves, her eyes were darker than usual, her forehead was creased, ever so slightly, into an almost invisible frown and the sides of her neck were a mild shade of pink.

She stepped out in front of him into the corridor at the back of the balcony overlooking the main hall. Christine's eyes drifted back to him as she waited for the host to finish summing up what he was saying. It was obvious that she was barely listening to him, he knew the look in her eyes, he knew her anxiousness was being pushed deep down, ever the professional.

'Monsieur Erik Valesk!'

Erik took a last look at Christine before he walked to the banister at the front of the balcony. The host had stepped aside allowing him the complete spotlight and, as he looked out over the hundreds of faces, he realised that there was only a handful of them he would ever wish to spend anytime with.

'Thank you,' he said, glancing back at the host. 'Fondest greetings to you all…'

He could almost see Christine's smile, even though he wasn't looking in her directions.

'Thank you very much for coming…' he continued. 'We… _I_… appreciate your company and your compliments but mostly, I appreciate your money.'

Chuckles from the floor below.

'Tonight, however, the drinks are on me,' he smiled, felt his stomach churn at the man he was tonight. 'Before I come down to see you all I would like to introduce you to my newest discovery.'

There were quiet titters from the people below as they all looked up, craning and arching their necks to get a glimpse of what and who he was talking about.

'My Diva…' he said. '_Your_ Diva… Christina Lovell.' He stepped aside, held out his arm gesturing for Christine to step forward.

As she did the crowd below stared up to get a better look and when she reached the front of the balcony a quiet applause rippled around the room. She smiled graciously, waved down at the crowd and then looked back at Erik.

He stood by her side. 'Drink, eat, be merry,' he said and turned his back on the crowd.

'Where are you going?'

He stopped and turned around. 'I'm going to splash my face with the water in the back room and then I will join you downstairs,'

'Can't I wait for you?' Christine asked.

'What for?' he asked.

'I don't want to go down unaccompanied,' she said.

Erik sighed.

'Never mind,' Christine huffed, shaking her head. 'I'll find Meg.'

'I'll find you later,'

Her shoulders shrugged as she walked quietly out of the room. Erik watched her as she walked around to the stairs at the West of the balcony and then he clicked the door closed, blocking out the noise from the hall.

When he was sure he was alone he slumped down onto the settee and stared at his hands. He simply could not organise the thoughts in his head, he could not force them to make meaning or form into any logical order. He fumed to himself. He was not sure what was going on, why he felt so out of sorts or how he was going to handle tonight. There were people in the hall waiting for him, wanting to talk to him and spend time with him.

He was sure that the usual leeches would be there, clinging to his every move for the entire evening. The ones who obviously could not take a hint. He would tolerate them because although they wanted his power they already had money. It was these people who paid for tickets, it was these people who went to every new show and recommended it to their even richer friends and family.

Just be patient with them.

Erik rested his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes. Colours flashed across them and he forced himself to ignore them. It wasn't long before his body began to give in to his exhaustion, his eyes felt heavier and more difficult to open, his body felt lethargic and his muscles felt like a dead weight.

Just one minute, he thought, as his breathing began to even into a calm pace.

* * *

'Sir?'

Erik stirred.

'Sir, are you in there?'

He forced his eyes open and stared at the door. The noise was coming from the other side.

'Are you alright?'

Erik glanced down at his pocket watch. Oh Lord, he thought, as he stared at the hands of the clock. He had been asleep for over an hour.

'Yes, I'm in here and yes, I'm alright,' he snapped.

'Sorry sir, but they are asking about you,' the man said.

'I'm coming,' he said, forcing his aching body to his feet. 'I'm coming,'

When he regained his composure he neaten himself, his suit and his tie, then he opened the door carefully.

'Are you alone?' he asked the man, who was tall and thin like a garden rake.

'No sir,' he answered quickly.

'Erik!' Nadir said, grabbing at his arm and trying to drag him out of the room. 'What on God's green earth are you doing?'

'I was sleeping,' he said simply, looking down at the Persian's weathered face.

'Stop the press,' Nadir said, rolling his eyes. 'They're all wondering where you are.'

Erik shrugged. 'I'm coming now aren't I?' he asked, though the question did not require any response at all.

Nadir walked with him down the stairs and into the midst of the people milling around, talking and drinking. Some had taken advantage of the finger foods on offer but for the most part they were drinking.

'Erik!'

He turned in the direction of his name.

'Do you remember me?'

'Of course, John,' he said. _How could I forget_? As John spoke Erik scanned the room carefully, he saw Antoinette on the far side near the small musical band he had gathered to play for the evening. She raised her glass in front of her eyes and smiled at him. He smiled back and then allowed his eyes to drift further around the room.

Meg was standing with some of the older guests, seemingly charming them with tales of France. There were some people he recognised as members of the orchestra, the leading man was flirting outrageously with two blonde women in the corner of the room. No doubt both women belonged to some other gentleman in the room.

'What do you say?'

Erik blinked and looked back at John. 'I'm sorry?' he said.

'Well, what do you think?' John asked, grey eyes focused intently on Erik's face.

'You'll have to excuse me John,' Erik said, wishing he was somewhere else. 'I appear to have lost someone.'

'Some other time then,' John said, oblivious to the fact that Erik had not listened to a single word he had said.

Erik made his way across the room, wading through the pools of people flooding the hall. As he reached the other side Meg turned to him and smiled.

'Have you see Christine?' he whispered.

Meg frowned. 'She said she was getting some fresh air,' Meg said.

'Thank you,' he said and turned away.

Erik headed towards the rear of the building, being stopped by many of the guest along the way. His irritation grew gradually but he was relived when he made it to the back door. The guard, a short stocky man, smiled at him.

'Evening Mister Valesk,' he said, tipping his hat.

'Have you seen Christina?' he asked, hoping that guard had seen his introduction at the beginning of the night.

'She's in the back garden, sir, enjoying the mild evening,'

'Thank you,' he said as the guard opened the door and let him step through. He heard it close behind him and then he scanned the garden.

Christine was standing by the pond, leaning against the rail that surrounded it. The moon was high above them shining out and illuminating the dark garden.

As he watched her quietly for a moment, making the most of the fact that she had no idea he was there he realised something.

He realised that there were but a few shadows between he and Christine but there was miles and miles of history.


	48. Secret Garden

**A/N: Caution for this chapter… please note rating 'M'**

**RR**

'_I don't quite know  
How to say  
How I feel_

Those three words  
Are said too much  
They're not enough

If I lay here  
If I just lay here  
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Forget what we're told  
Before we get too old   
Show me a garden that's bursting into life

Let's waste time  
Chasing cars  
Around our heads

I need your grace   
To remind me  
To find my own

If I lay here  
If I just lay here  
Would you lie with me and just forget the world? 

Forget what we're told  
Before we get too old  
Show me a garden that's bursting into life

All that I am  
All that I ever was  
Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see 

I don't know where  
Confused about how as well  
Just know that these things will never change for us at all

If I lay here  
If I just lay here  
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?' – 

_Snow Patrol- Chasing Cars. (Really excellent song)_

**Chapter 48- Secret Garden**

Erik stood there for what could have been a second, or an eternity, watching her fair skin soak in the pallid light of the lonely moon. The stars had deserted it this evening, as they had deserted him many years ago. The barely pale shine from the moon somehow clung to the darkness of her silk smooth hair and made it shimmer like the ripples of the pond.

Christine's profile was as perfect as he had ever seen it, the dress he had given her served only to highlight the contrasts of her skin and hair, light and dark. In the low light of the garden the dress looked black. She was staring out over the dark surface of the water looking so focused that he almost felt he should turn and walk away.

_Almost_.

Erik stepped forwards, out of the shadow of the building and into the centre of the garden. They were surrounded by trees but somehow they did not shadow Christine, they allowed the light to enter the garden and highlight its beauty.

'Christine,' he said, so softly that he raised his hand to his throat, wondering where his voice had gone.

She turned her head to glance at him and then quickly looked away.

He frowned. 'What's wrong?' he asked, walking over so that he was standing next to her. She turned her head further.

'Nothing,' she said quietly but still did not look at him. Erik shook his head. 'Just leave me, Erik.'

He stood totally still and completely silent for a moment, looked at the line of her shoulders, the way her side curved gently into her waist and sloped back out to her hip. The cool breeze blew past his face, touched his lips with moisture and then was gone.

'Why?' he finally asked, eyes fixed onto her, waiting for her to look at him.

'Because I don't want to speak to you,' she said simply but her tone was low.

Erik shrugged and leaned against the railing. 'You don't have to speak to me,'

'I don't want to be near you,' she shot back, moving along the rails away from him.

'I can understand that,' he answered logically.

'Can you?' she said and Erik noticed the bite in her tone.

'I think so,'

'I don't think you understand,' she said turning to look at him. Her eyes were moist and red, her cheeks were pinker than usual and her lips were curved down.

'Why are you crying?' he asked.

Christine let out a sharp laugh. 'Right,' she snapped. 'What _possible_ reason could I have to cry?'

He stared at her.

'I don't even want to _live_, Erik,' she growled, her eyes shining with anger. 'I actually thought… like an idiot, I actually thought that everything would be alright.'

Erik said nothing.

'I did,' she nodded and shook a tear from her cheek. 'I honestly believed that being near Joshua would be enough even if he didn't know who I was, I thought that working with you… that even _that_ would just somehow work itself out.'

At a loss Erik felt his heart press against his chest.

'I made a friend in James,' she continued, her voice breaking in between words. 'A good friend. I got away from the Baileys… I'm _singing_ again… but it's just not enough.'

'Christine…'

She glared at him. 'Don't _Christine_ me, Erik,' she snarled. 'That trick doesn't have the same appeal as it used to.' She turned her head away again. 'Then earlier today… when we were alone in the theatre, in all that darkness, with you playing the piano the way you used to…'

Erik watched her, waited for her to finish.

Christine just fell silent, stared towards the far end of the garden, where the trees and flowers stood.

'What can I do?' he asked, after a long moment.

'Nothing,' she replied quietly.

He sighed. 'Then why are you telling me this?'

'Because you wouldn't leave,'

'I would have,' he said and moved towards her. 'But I won't now.'

She moved further away, following the curve of the rail around towards the gate to the flower garden.

'What can I do?' he repeated, still watching her carefully.

'You could have come downstairs with me earlier,' she said quickly. 'You could have introduced me to people instead of leaving me on my own.' She turned to face him again as the sky opened and the droplets of rain began to drip onto her skin. 'You could have explained to me why you were gone for so long, you could at least try to be civil.'

'I'm being civil now,'

'Only because you don't understand,' she said sharply. 'And you _need_ to understand things… you need to understand _everything_.' Her eyes fixed on his. 'You can't handle not knowing, not having that little piece of intelligence.'

'Perhaps I'm simply concerned about you,'

She laughed harshly as the rain slid off her nose. 'Perhaps,'

'What can I do _now_?' he asked. 'That's all gone, I can't change that.'

She shook her head. 'There's nothing you can do,' she said as she turned and walked towards the gate leading into the roses.

Erik followed her. 'Nothing at all,'

She said nothing and continued to walk, when she arrived at the gate she reached out and tugged it open, letting it fling back behind her as she wandered through it.

Still, he followed.

The darkness engulfed them as the shadows that had been missing earlier overtook the garden. The rain fell through the gaps between the trees and wet Erik's hair and, as he followed, he felt the ground beneath his feet become slippery with mud.

'Stop,' he said simply but she ignored him and waded through the leaves and branches. She did not even look back towards him.

'Stop,' he repeated, more firmly.

This time, with the last of the moon disappearing behind thick clouds, Christine's feet stopped moving and she stood completely still. Erik walked around so that he was standing in front of her and for the first time that evening they stood completely face to face.

'You're angry with me,' he said. 'Because I left you earlier.'

Christine shook her head. 'There's more…'

'Shush,' he said, stepping towards her. 'I wasn't ignoring you, I fell to sleep… and I'm sorry.'

'Why didn't you come to find me?' she asked, looking down at her hands.

'I tried to,' he said. 'But I was caught by guests.'

She shook her head.

'I _did_ find you though didn't I?' he asked. 'I'm here.'

'It's too late,' she said. 'I already feel like a fool… wandering around that party alone like some sort of…'

Erik lifted his finger to his own lips and shook his head at her. 'Enough,'

She stared at him, dark eyes almost black in the cool evening.

Erik moved forwards and slid his arm around her lower back, then he reached down and took her left hand in his right, holding it out slightly. Gently he began to move her, side to side, foot to foot, he moved her until she took over. Until they were dancing.

'There's no music,' she whispered, as she allowed her body to meet his.

He leaned down so that his lips were on her ear. 'There's always music,' he said softly.

'With you,' her voice was faint against his ears. 'Sing something,'

Erik tightened his grip on her back, pulling her body in towards his. They were so close, so pressed together, that not even the rain could find its path between them as it poured onto their bodies. It was becoming colder and darker, the moon was all but gone and the rain was coming down heavy over the garden.

It didn't matter.

Christine's head found a resting place on Erik's left shoulder as they swayed nimbly, like trees in a gentle summer breeze, and Erik soaked in the apple scent of her dark hair. His left hand stroked the small of her back as they danced, he tried to make it stop but his body had taken over. His mind seemed no longer in play, the game had taken his body prisoner as he felt the rise and fall of Christine's breathing against him.

She sighed softly against his chest.

'Don't give up,' he whispered, placing his lips to her hair. 'Don't ever give up.'

She responded by moving her right hand around his back and holding him close to her.

'I'm sorry about today,' she said gently, as their feet slid over the muddy ground.

He kissed her hair tenderly. 'Don't be,'

'I felt like a fool,' she said as a rain drop fell onto her ear.

'You're no fool,'

'And neither are you,' she whispered, as his hand moved down from her lower back. 'Erik…'

'Mm?'

'Do you love Fiona?' she asked.

Erik closed his eyes. 'Yes,' he said simply.

'The way you loved me?' her voice broke as the words came out.

'No,'

'She's lovely,'

'Yes, she is,' he said, their feet still gliding over the uneven ground.

'Then what is different?'

He sighed and kissed the top of her ear. 'I could never love anyone the way I love you,' he said quietly. 'How could I ever love two people that way? It drains me… destroys me…'

'I'm sorry,' Christine said, trying to pull away from him. He held her tight.

'No need to be sorry,' he said. 'Because it always builds me back up again… somehow.'

'Erik…'

'Christine?' he whispered.

She stopped moving and leaned back in his arms to look up at him. 'I want to remember how you feel,' she said.

Erik stood still, letting her rest in his embrace as he looked at her, took in the beauty of her face, the shape of her nose, the colour of her eyes.

'I want to remember,' she repeated softly.

He pulled her back towards him, their lips meeting, hot and moist. She slid her arms along his back, wrapped them around his neck. He gripped her waist in his fingertips, pulled her close to him, let his mouth lose itself against hers. Her lips were soft and warm against his, her mouth burning and passionate.

They stumbled sideways in the moment and fell against the iron fence surrounding the rose garden. She tugged at his jacket as she let her back rest against the railing. He slipped his arms out of the coat, let it fall to the muddy earth as his mouth devoured hers hungrily.

Christine's exquisite hands found the buttons to his shirt and began eagerly undoing them, as she pressed her lips hard against his. He felt the cold water of the weather sizzle against his hot shoulders as she slipped his shirt off them. It had not even reached the ground before her hands were on his chest. They felt warm and used, no longer the delicate soft skin that they once were.

He lost himself in the sensation of her heat against him, her strong hands on his flesh. She fumbled for his belt, unclasped it and worked at the button on his trousers. His hands found their way to her back, his lips still exploring hers, and grasped at the zip holding her dress up.

'Are you sure?' he breathed against her ear.

'Yes,' she said, without hesitation. He lowered the zip and helped her to slide her arms out of the dress, exposing a faint scar on her chest. Erik worked the dress down to her hips and kissed the pink scar gently, moving his lips slowly back up along her neck to her mouth, where he locked her in another powerful kiss.

He kicked his trousers away as they kissed and Christine allowed her dress and underskirt to fall to the ground around her feet. He felt her hands on his stomach as she traced the outline of his muscles and he moved his hands along her arms and to her breasts, felt her nipples harden under his touch. He used the tips of his fingers to draw invisible patterns on her stomach and his hands made their way to her hips.

Erik pulled her hips roughly towards him and pressed her back against the railings. Her mouth found his again as she stood on her toes and he moved his hands around to the backs of her thighs. He lifted her from the floor, pushed her against the iron fence, kissed her hard…

She gasped sharply as he entered her but she wrapped herself around him quickly, her mouth seemingly unable to leave his, they kissed passionately as they moved. Erik was strong and held her tight, she rocked against him, arms clasped around his neck.

He felt her squeeze him with her thighs, pull him firmer towards her as her hands made their way into his hair, grasping and tugging it. She leaning forward against him, moaned gently into his ear as he pushed against her harder, feeling her tense up around him.

'Erik…' she murmured as his fingers dug into her thighs.

His name had never sounded so sweet. They held on tight, he kissed her jaw and throat, she grabbed his hair, pulled him in with the heels of her feet.

He slowed, as she leaned back against the fence. 'Don't…' she gasped.

And he didn't.


	49. Still of the Night

**A/N: Thank you for all of the reviews. I appreciate them as always, they spur me on and keep me going, even when I am so busy at work!**

**I enjoyed writing these last two chapters, I hope you have enjoyed reading them. **

**RR**

'_Here we go again  
Ashamed of being broken in  
We're getting off track  
I want to get you back  
Again  
I want you to trouble me  
I wanted you to linger  
Yeah I want you to agree with me  
I want so much so bad  
Come on and lay it down _

I've always been with you  
Here and now  
Give all that's within you  
Be my saviour  
And I'll be your downfall' –Matchbox 20 'Downfall'

**Chapter 49- Still of the Night.**

Christine closed her eyes and rested her head back against the cold metal of the fence behind her. Her breathing was harsh and came in sharp gasps as she attempted to bring it back under some sort of control… to bring _herself_ back under some sort of control. Erik's hands were still under her thighs, her ankles were still behind his back, her hands rested on top of his shoulders as the rain poured onto her exposed chest.

Involuntarily she murmured: 'Erik…'

He responded by pulling her away from the fence and into his arms. Her legs were hooked around his torso and her arms around his neck as his left arm slid up around her back and pulled her close to him. He leant and let his head rest against her jaw and she felt his warm breath against her neck.

'We need to go,' he said, a little breathlessly and she kissed his hair. It was messy, wet and dripping but that didn't matter. Nothing mattered right now. She was allowing herself this moment if only for a _moment_

She ran her fingers through his black hair. 'I know,' she whispered, her heart beginning to return to a normal pace, her pulse finally slowing.

Still, she felt dizzy.

Erik stroked her back with his thumb, the feeling of him moving against her again made her shiver and he stopped. 'Sorry,' he said quietly, as he lowered her carefully, so that her feet touched the floor.

'What for?' she said, with equal softness.

'I made you jump,'

She smiled up at him, taking in his eyes properly for the first time that night. 'In a good way,'

His response was to nod and look down at himself. She followed his eyes as they drifted up his own legs and arms, until he lifted his hands in front of himself and stared at them. She resisted the urge to reach out to him, she desperately wanted to know what he was thinking, but his silence was so powerful that she stilled her tongue.

Erik's right hand moved along his left arm and flicked the rain water away, then he touched his face and then… his mask. She watched as he squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head.

'What's wrong?' the words were low in her throat when she spoke.

He glanced at her before turning away and walking towards the fence where they had just been wrapped around each other. 'We need to get dressed,' he said simply.

'Erik…'

He turned to look at her and the meagre light the clouds allowed from the moon caught in the blue of his eyes. 'This was…'

She swallowed hard, feeling her stomach turn as he spoke.

'This was wrong,' he said quietly. 'It shouldn't have happened.'

'I know,' Christine murmured in defeat. She knew it was true, she knew he was right but still, she had loved every moment. She had relished every move, every scent, every kiss and touch that he made… but, still, she _did_ know that it was wrong.

He handed her the dress, caked in mud and soaking wet. As she took it from him her hand brushed across his and they stood still, his eyes meeting hers in the growing light of the moon.

He blinked and looked away from her. 'Nothing has changed,' he said and Christine nodded. 'I'm the same man I was eight years ago and you… you're the same woman,'

'I'm not,' she said, in a quiet protest.

He shook his head at her. 'Yes you are,' he said. 'You're still beautiful, you're still talented… you're still…'

'I'm stronger,'

'I see that,' he said.

'Then why do you treat me like I can't handle this?' she asked, though oddly she didn't feel angry.

'Look at me, Christine,' he said, standing to face her. His whole body was now in her view, his trousers were on but the top button was undone, his shirt was hanging loosely, but unfastened, on his shoulders. His mask was bright in the darkness.

'I'm looking,' she said simply.

'I'm the same,'

She nodded. 'Exactly,'

He laughed. 'I'm still bad tempered,' he said, looking at her while buttoning his muddy shirt. 'I'm still ugly.'

'No,' she said.

'Don't patronise me, Christine,' his voice was hard. 'I'm still ugly, I know that I am… that hasn't changed either.'

'You were never ugly, Erik,' she said softly. 'Not to me.'

His fingers paused over the last button of his shirt. She felt his eyes on her, taking her in, studying her.

'This mask is all I am,' he said, placing his fingers on the white ceramic and then letting his hand fall back to his side.

'That isn't true,' Christine said, her heart aching. 'We both know it isn't.'

'It's true enough,' he said.

Without thinking Christine moved towards him quickly, flinging her arms around her neck, she kissed him passionately, let her mouth mould with his again. She felt him resist as she pulled him closer.

'Christine,' he murmured against her lips.

She tiptoed and moved her lips over his jaw, along his cheek and up across his forehead. When she moved them back down they were on the cold ceramic of his mask, she kissed it gently, tickled her fingers around his neck and touched his veil with their tips. It was a moment before her lips met his again but this time they met no resistance as he kissed her back.

Christine let herself dip into his body and fall deeper into his warmth.

When he loosened his grip on her body she stared into his eyes, let their icy cool wash over her like the ocean that they resembled. So dark and blue, so fierce and strong… so _everything_.

'We're filthy,' he said, looking down her dress.

She giggled. 'We're something,'

He ran his hand back through his hair, pushing it back away from his forehead. 'We can't go back like this,'

'Then what do we do?' she asked, her own hands attempting to neaten her tussled hair.

Before he had chance to answer Christine's ears caught the faint sound of rustling at the opposite end of the garden. Erik had obviously heard it to and he grabbed her hand and pulled her behind a large oak tree.

'Shh,' he said, placing his finger to his lips. She nodded without making a sound.

The rustling became louder. 'Erik!'

Christine frowned.

'It's Nadir,' he said quietly.

'What are you going to do?' she whispered, tucking her body behind his. He reached around and squeezed her hand gently.

He looked around and shrugged. 'Wait here,' he said and rested his lips on her forehead briefly, before stepping back out into the garden.

She watched as his shadow moved through the rose bushes and towards the gate, it creaked open and Erik stepped out of the flower garden.

'What are you doing, Daroga?' he asked, and Christine could just make out the shape of the little Persian as he approached Erik.

'I could ask you the same thing,' the smaller man answered. 'You're a state.'

She saw the outline of Erik's shoulders shrug.

'What are you doing out here?' Nadir asked.

Erik stepped forward. 'What does it look like?' he asked.

'It looks a lot like you're up to no good,' Nadir replied, trying to glance over Erik shoulder.

'Go back inside,' Erik said.

'People are wondering where you are,' Nadir said simply, without moving. 'And here you are… rolling in mud.'

Erik shrugged again.

'You're not going to tell me you fell over are you?' Nadir asked, rising onto his tiptoes. Erik placed his hands on the Persian's shoulders and pushed him back onto the soles of his feet.

'I'm not going to tell you anything,' Erik said, moving forward, forcing Nadir to shuffle backwards.

'Because I would never believe you,' Nadir said. 'I don't think I have ever seen you trip over.'

'Then don't ask,' Erik said sharply. 'Go back in to the party.'

'I take it that you're not coming back inside,' Nadir said, moving back towards the garden door.

'I'm not, not,' Erik answered.

'And what do I tell your esteemed guests?'

Christine could hear the smile in Erik's tone. 'Tell them anything you like,' he replied. 'With all the free spirits flowing they will not remember by morning anyway.'

'Fine,' the Persian said with an exaggerated sigh. 'Tell Christine I said goodnight,'

And then he was gone.

* * *

Erik wrapped Christine in his slightly less mucky jacket and led her into the large, open and incredibly lit hallway. The arches of the reception area were high and elegant, so fine that Erik wished he had designed it himself. There was a tall gentleman in a grey suit standing behind the desk in the centre of the back wall.

He smiled as they approached but Erik saw his eyes drift over their dishevelled figures. 'Good evening,' he greeted when they reached the desk.

'Evening,' Erik said and he glanced at Christine.

'What can I do for you sir?' the tall man asked, his eyes flitting from Erik to Christine and back again.

'I need a room,' Erik said simply.

'A double room, sir?' he asked, lifting his eyebrows.

'Would you like a double room?' he asked, looking at Christine.

She nodded. 'I like a big bed,' she murmured.

'You won't be staying, sir?' the man asked, looking confused.

'No,' Erik replied. 'I will pay and accompany my friend upstairs and then I will be leaving.'

The man nodded. 'Very well,' he said. 'There is a double room free overlooking the garden if the lady would like that one?'

Christine glanced at him and he nodded. 'Yes please,' she said, turning her attention back to the gentleman behind the counter.

'Do you have warm water and clean towels?' Erik asked, completely aware of the state both he and Christine were in. 'We got caught in the storm, slipped in some mud.'

'I see,' the man said, as he reached behind the counter and handed Erik a large key. 'Towels are in the cupboard,' he clicked his fingers as a small woman walked through the reception area. 'Can you arrange some warm water to go up to room ten please?'

The woman nodded and scurried off out of sight. Erik grasped the key tightly in his hand and placed his other carefully on Christine's shoulder. She jumped slightly at his touch and as he began to move his hand away her fingertips curled around his and held it to her arm.

Erik felt his heart begin to sink as he thought about going home, leaving Christine alone in the hotel and somehow facing Fiona back at home. It was a strange feeling, guilt. It had slunk in quite unexpectedly but still, rather quickly. He stayed a step back from Christine as they ascended the stairs and turned left into the dark and thin corridor.

'This is it,' she said, stopping just ahead of him. He held the key out for her to take but she ignored him and stepped aside, pulling his jacket tight around her slender shoulders.

He slipped the key into the door and turned it as gently as it could. The lock still opened with a loud click, despite his best efforts to the contrary. The door creaked open and exposed the surprisingly airy room, the walls were light, the gas lights were glowing on low and the dark curtains were closed.

Christine slid past him and walked over to the centre of the room. He watched as she surveyed the room, looked at the ceiling and then the wooden floor. It was a few seconds before she turned back around to face him.

'Are you just going to stand in the doorway like that?' she asked.

Erik thought for a moment. 'I need to get home,' he said, his hand resting on the door handle.

'I understand,' she said quietly but he saw the sadness wash over her eyes.

'Will you be alright?' he asked.

'Of course,' she said.

Erik nodded, remembering her words from earlier. 'You're stronger.'

This time Christine nodded.

'You didn't seem so strong earlier,' he said quietly, clicking the door closed as he stepped into the room.

'I'm hurt inside, Erik,' she said, her voice low and faint as she placed her hand on her chest. 'In here.'

'I…'

She interrupted. 'But I _am_ strong.' She said. 'Though we all have our moments.'

Erik nodded. 'We certainly do,' he agreed and he turned to leave.

'Erik…' Christine said, her voice a husky hue. Erik stood still, his feet rooted to the spot as he waited for her to speak. How had he ended up in this situation again, how had he let himself be overtaken by the past...?

'Stay,' she said quietly.

'I can't,' he said.

'Please…' she whispered, only just loudly enough for him to catch it. He heard her move and turned around to face her.

Christine let his muddy coat fall off her shoulders into a heap around her feet.

'Please,' she repeated, crawling onto the bed and lying with her head on the pillow.

Erik was frozen to the spot, forgetting for a moment which side was earth and which was sky. She looked so _good._ The dip in her waist as she lay on her side, the line of her body was so smooth in the dull light of the room. He could make out the soft texture of her skin, the faint down along it's surface catching the gentle glow from the lamps.

Christine propped her head up on her hand and lay on her side, staring at him. Her eyes were so intense that he could almost feel them moving across him.

'Come and lie down,' she whispered and without any instruction his feet moved towards her.

When he reached the bed her hand searched for his and he felt her warm fingertips grip his hand tightly. She pulled gently and his tired body obeyed as he kicked his shoes away and lay next to her, facing her, he too propping himself up on one arm.

He looked at her as his heart lurched forward, telling him that this was wrong… very wrong. Yes he couldn't stop. He lay his head down on the pillow and let his other arm fall over Christine's waist, to keep her warm, to protect her.

As they lay there in the silence of the cool evening, on top of the blanket, still fully clothed, his arm over her and her arms tucked up into her body, they allowed the past to be around them… let it sink back into their bodies, let them remember.

To Erik it simply did not matter, not at the moment Christine's soft breath brushed across his neck, that this was wrong.

For that moment he was not even sure that it was wrong.

How could anything so perfectly true and pure be wrong?


	50. Morning After

**A/N: I'm finding it difficult to write at the moment and can only ask your forgiveness for the gap between chapters again. Please forgive me, please read and review, please ignore typos… it's been a long day.**

**RR**

**Chapter 50- Morning After**

It was the sun that woke him. He was not used to the sensation of it's prickling heat stroking his face. Erik forced one eye open, letting his pupil adjust to the light and then finally, allowed the other to open. He was lying on his back, staring up at a light ceiling on a very comfortable bed. It was a moment before he remembered the night before, as it came back in a torrent to flood his mind. He took a breath, let it ooze out in a sigh and then he glanced to his right. Christine was lying perfectly still all but the movement of her chest rising up and down with her soft breathing. Her hair was spread across the pillow, some over her face, she looked peaceful and calm.

The water that the maid had brought up was cold by the time they had opened their eyes again in the night and decided to move so that they could make use of it. Still, it cleared the mud from their bodies. Christine had handed him the cloth and turned around, lifting her dark locks out of the way with her arm. The sight of the back of her body was almost too much to bear as she stood there, naked, waiting for him to clean her.

She had not had to wait for very long.

After he had finished wiping the dirt and grime from her soft skin he had sat back on the bed and looked up at her. Christine had smiled warmly. 'Would you like me to clean you?' she asked, taking the cloth carefully from his hands.

His lips curled upwards involuntarily and he smiled back. 'No thank you,' he had said. 'Lie down and sleep,'

He could see that she was tired by the way her eyes only opened some of the way that they should, by the way her hands were shaking, very slightly, when she moved...

'Are you sure? she asked and in return he had simply nodded at her. He had watched as she pulled herself back onto the bed and over to the side closest to the window.

Years ago Christine did not sleep by the window.

Years ago Christine did not offer to wash him either.

'Erik,' she murmured, head resting on the pillow.

He had glanced at her.

'Are you angry?' she asked, her eyes barely open a slit.

Erik shook his head. 'No,'

'Then why do you look like you are?' she had asked, her eyes dropping closed and she forced them open again.

'I'm not angry,' he said quietly.

Christine had strained to keep her eyes open and then, when she did, she stared at him.

'I feel...' he remembered shaking his head. 'Guilt.'

Christine had nodded. 'Welcome to human nature,' she had said as she reached her hand out to stroke the clammy skin of his arm.

'Sleep,'

She had nodded again but coaxed him back to lie on the bed instead of sitting there. He sighed at the vivid memory of her _coaxing_… it had been with very little effort, and then she had wrapped her arms around him.

Lying there now, in the warmth of the invading sunlight, he found himself surprised that they were not still tangled within each other. Her grip had been so tight the night before, her hands pulling him in, her arms holding him close as if she would never let him go. Last night he had hoped that she wouldn't.

Oddly, this morning he felt no remorse in the sense that he wished it had never happened. He didn't. His longing for Christine had been _so_ long and so desperate for _so_ many years that he thought even if his brain was cleansed of her memory she would still somehow linger inside him.

He did feel guilty though, he reasoned in his mind, which was categorically different to remorse or regret. Regret would assume that you never wanted something to happen, never wanted it to have even been in your mind and that you wished you could erase it from your memory. Erik did not feel regret.

About anything.

Guilt, however, was the knowledge that whatever you had done, it was wrong. At least on some level. This level, though it felt right at the time, was that it was wrong by Fiona. Erik sighed quietly and raised his hand to his head.

And tonight was the night of the show.

Christine's quiet murmur made him turn to look at her. 'Mm...'

He squeezed his eyes closed, hoping that she would not wake up, he was not quite sure if he could face her this morning.

Any hope that he was clinging too disintegrated quickly.

'Morning,' she whispered, shuffling into his body. He fought hard with the demon inside but he lost and gently slid his arm under Christine's warm body. She lay her hand on his chest, stroked it with her fingertips. The shiver that sped along his spine was a fizzle of intense heat and he held his breath for a second, hoping he hadn't responded too openly.

'Good morning,' he replied. He felt her lips rest on his shoulder.

She looked up at him. 'I missed you,' she said quietly.

'I haven't been anywhere,'

'Yes you have,' she said, as her lips ran across the expanse of his collarbone and shoulder.

_Push her away. _

'You've been gone for so long,' she whispered against his throat.

She pushed herself up and her knee came across his waist as she knelt over him. He swallowed hard as her lips came down to meet with his. All thoughts of resistance vanished as his body responded to the beautiful woman straddling across his body, kissing his lips. He kissed her back with all of the energy he had inside, slid his hands along the tops of her thighs and let her kiss him. As she did he felt his heart racing and, when his hands pulled on her back and she fell towards him, he felt her groan into his mouth.

His mind whirred… _In for a penny..._

_

* * *

_

The sun was bright and warm on the porch this morning, Joshua thought as he sat quietly on the top step, legs straight in front of him, back against the post to the archway. He was wearing his best trousers, because Fiona was in a bad mood and the maid was too poorly to help his choose his clothes. He liked his best trousers so he wore them.

There was no one here to tell him off.

His father had not arrived back last night after the party that he went to. Very early in the morning, when it was still dark, he had heard the sound of footsteps on the landing and he had tiptoed to the door and peeked out. Fiona was walking down the stairs and that was when he realised that his father had not come back.

Joshua lay his hand flat on the wood of the porch and let an ant crawl onto it. He lifted his to his eyes and inspected the creature curiously, before he placed it carefully back onto the wooden slat. It was then that he heard footsteps on the gravel of the path and looked up.

His father was walking towards him, his jacket was hooked over his arm and he was covered in mud. Joshua swallowed and leapt up. He darted down the steps and greeted his father halfway along the path.

'Morning Josh,'

Joshua frowned. 'What happened? Did you get hurt?' he asked, concerned.

'I was caught up in the storm last night,' his father answered and placed his hand on Joshua's head. 'I'm not hurt,'

Before Joshua had chance to speak to his father some more and to ask him why he did not get home at all he was beaten to it.

'Where have you been Erik?'

Joshua looked towards the porch as they approached it. Fiona as standing on the top step staring down at them, her face creased into a tight frown. Joshua realised that she looked angry. He grabbed his father's hand.

'At the hotel,' he said, and Joshua glanced up at him.

Joshua felt a growing unease circle like sharks in his stomach. He squeezed his father's strong fingers in his small hand and held it tight. Fiona was looking at them both as they walked up the steps towards her, his father glanced down at him and then crouched by his side. Joshua did not know why, but the anxious feeling he had was manifesting itself as sharp pains behind his eyes and he felt the hard prickle of tears as his father lay a gentle kiss on his forehead.

'Will you run upstairs for a while?' His father asked him in a quiet voice. As quiet a tone as Joshua had ever heard it. 'I need to speak with Fiona for a moment'

Joshua did not move, though he knew that he should obey, his feet seemed welded to the wooden planks of the porch floor. He froze, staring at his father's dark blue eyes. They looked like a stormy ocean today, Joshua thought, as a tear threatened his eye.

'Go on, Josh,' his father said softly as he stood up and let go of his hand. Joshua shot a quick glance up at Fiona, before nodding in the realisation that he had no choice.

He nodded. 'Yes, father,' he said and began to walk into the house. 'But…'

'I'll come up when we're done,'

Joshua nodded again and then ran inside.

* * *

Erik looked at the brewing storm in Fiona's eyes and sighed. 

'Which hotel?' she asked, as she turned her back to him and walked inside the house. Erik hoped that Joshua had listened and gone into his room, he had a feeling that this was not going to be a pleasant conversation.

'The one closest to the town hall,' he said honestly, as they entered the dining room. Fiona turned around and closed the doors.

'You're covered in mud,' she said, and Erik grimaced.

'Don't state the obvious Fiona, it's not attractive,'

She scowled. 'Neither are your lies,'

'Then at least we find ourselves at the same level… for a change,'

'Why so snide, Erik?' she asked, a sudden pang of hurt attacking her tone.

He shook his head. 'I'm not being snide,' he said. 'I don't appreciate the way you're speaking to me.'

'I'm not the one who spent all night out without sending word back,'

Erik glared, feeling a rush of anger coarse through his veins. 'You would have known had you come with me.'

'You told me not to!' her voice had grown louder with her anger. 'I was ill.'

'You're always ill,'

Fiona sighed. 'You were at the hotel,' she said, her eyes fixed on him as he leaned against the mantel.

'Yes,' he said simply.

'Alone?' she asked, standing with her back to the doors

'Yes,' he lied.

'How did you get so dirty?' she asked.

'I was caught in the rain,' he replied honestly.

He watched as Fiona rubbed the back of her neck. 'And the rain made you muddy?'

'It made the ground slippery,' he answered logically.

'So you fell over in it?' she asked, lifting her eyebrows at him.

'Yes,'

She shook her head. 'Liar,' she spat.

Erik stood up straight, taking a deep breath to calm his temper. It had little effect.

'You don't fall over, Erik,' she said, sounding almost breathless. 'You're a cat… in all of my life I have never… _never_… known anyone so sure footed.'

'Then how is it, exactly, that you think I got dirty?' he asked, stepping forward to close the large gap between them.

'Where is Chrissie?' she asked quickly, her stare unwavering.

'I don't know where she is,' Erik said. 'Have you asked James?'

_Erik_… he thought… _is this the man you have become..?_

'Yes,' she said simply.

'Does he know?'

'He hasn't seen her all night,'

Erik shrugged.

'She didn't come back either,' Fiona said, tears beginning to flow along her cheeks.

'I don't know where she is,' Erik repeated.

'And you aren't worried?' she asked. 'Considering your _leading_ lady did not come home at all yesterday and that tonight is the opening night of your show?'

'I'm sure she will be back,'

'How are you so sure?' Fiona shouted, her voice echoing around the sparse room.

Erik opened his mouth to answer but was stopped when the doors opened behind Fiona and Antoinette stepped inside, closely followed by a changed and clean Christine.

'I'm sorry, am I interrupting?' Antoinette asked, flashing a look at Erik. 'I thought Meg and I should walk Chrissie back.'

Erik nodded. 'Thank you,'

'Did she stay with you last night?' Fiona asked, frowning.

'I thought it best not to send word last night,' Antoinette said. 'It was late and we did not want to wake anyone.'

'No…' Fiona said, her voice slightly caught in her throat. 'Thank you,'

Thank God for you, Giry, Erik thought.

'Can I leave her here or would you like me to take her up to her room?' Antoinette asked, shooting another look in Erik direction.

'Chrissie can find her own way to her room,' he said quietly. 'I'll walk you to the door Antoinette.'

Christine nodded and disappeared from the room, followed closely by Antoinette. 'Are we done here, Fiona?' he asked.

She nodded in reply.

'Good,' he said as he left the room feeling the rough pangs of guilt graze his heart. As he approached Antoinette she reached out and wrapped her arms around him gently. It was not a gesture of love, he realised, as she whispered in his ear.

'You're a fool Erik,'

'I know,' he whispered back.

'Make a decision,' she said, kissing his cheek as she pushed him away.

'Thank you,' he said sincerely and closed the door behind her.

_Make a decision. _


	51. Disappointments

**A/N- Thank you for the reviews for the last chapter… I have been finding it difficult to write as I said before _but_ this chapter just seemed to come out of nowhere. Next chapter will probably be opening night and we are slowly drawing to a close. If I planned this out correctly there are probably less than 10 chapters to go.**

**RR- it makes my day.**

"_We do not indeed so often disappoint others as ourselves. We not only think more highly than others of our own abilities, but allow ourselves to form hopes which we never communicate"-_ Samuel Johnson, 1759

Chapter 51- Disappointments

Christine found the flutter in her heart both warm and sickening at the same time. As she lay on top of the covers in her room she could still feel the heat of Erik's lips against hers, the firm grasp of his fingertips as they dug into her thighs, as he pulled her closer… she still felt the beads of sweat that dampened the tiny space between their bodies…

Her eyes closed involuntarily as she thought about his hands on her body and his lips on her face. She could not remember ever feeling so content. But content quickly gave way to the turbulent feeling she felt when she had looked at Fiona.

Christine knew Erik's pain, she felt guilt too.

It was all very wrong, more wrong than she cared to admit… yet she had been unable to stop, unable to control herself. It was as though she had lost the ability to think for herself and instead all she could do was feel.

Feel and be swept away by _him_.

The knock at the door shook her awake from her heavy thoughts and she sat up and straightened herself out. 'Come in,' she said and waited.

James was carrying a tray and his face was dark with something… _anguish_, perhaps?

'I brought you some food,' he said, almost formerly.

'Thank you,' she said. 'But you shouldn't have.'

He shook his head. 'You need to eat, we've spoken about this before.'

Christine reached out and took the sandwich from plate. After swallowing a mouthful she looked up at him and smiled.

He did not return it.

'James,' she said, her heart faltering as she looked at his face. 'What's wrong?'

He seemed to ignore her and instead of answering he walked to the window, where he used his finger to push the drape aside. After a long moment of staring out across the garden, apparently looking at nothing in particular, he turned his eyes back on her.

'Where did you stay last night?' he asked, his voice barely audible.

'I stayed with Madame Giry,' she lied but she realised that she need not have bothered with the effort.

He shook his head. 'You don't need to lie to me, Chrissie,' he said quietly and moved in to the room from the window.

Christine looked up at his tall figure before patting the bed next to her, inviting him to sit down with her.

'I can't do that,' he said simply and Christine frowned in confusion.

'You're no longer one of us,' his voice subdued.

'I…'

His smile was sad. 'You're above me, above my station… I shouldn't even be alone with you,'

'Oh don't be silly!' she said. 'Please sit James, you're my friend.'

'You've always been above my station, Vicomtess,'

Christine blinked back sharp tears. 'Why are you doing this?' she asked, spasms of hurt wrenching her heart.

'You stayed with the Master last night,' he said.

She nodded.

'What about Madame Valesk… what about his wife, Chrissie?' he asked, disappointment clouded his soft eyes.

'I don't know…'

'What were you thinking?' he asked quickly, though Christine found no anger in his tone.

'I wasn't, James,' she said softly. 'I wasn't thinking at all… I was only feeling.'

'Don't you regret what you've done?'

She shook her head. 'No,'

'I don't understand,'

'Please sit down…' she whispered, feeling her voice crack under the weight of James' regret. He looked away, stared out of the window as if the answer was out there somewhere, then he sighed and sat down.

'Does _he_ regret it?'

'I haven't asked him,' she said quickly. James let out a wry chuckle and shook his head. 'I don't think he does…' she corrected.

'Then what will you do?' he asked.

Christine shrugged, what _was_ she going to do?

'Will he lie to her?' he asked, eyes searching her face for all of the answers. She didn't have answers, she had questions too… so many questions.

'I expect so,' Christine replied quietly.

'And will you two continue…'

'No,' she said firmly. 'I don't think it will happen again.'

'How can you know that?'

'Believe it or not, I am a woman of some integrity.'

James nodded. 'I know you are…'

'I love him James…' she whispered. 'I've always loved him.'

XXXX

Nadir stared at Erik for a long time before he found the calmness to speak.

'What the hell have you done?' he asked, knowing full well what he had done. He knew last night when he saw Erik in the garden. He knew it without even seeing her there. 'You didn't even come home Erik…'

Erik's cool blue eyes fixed on Nadir. 'I was tired,'

'I'm sure you were,' Nadir said, rolling his eyes. 'Have you lost what very little sanity you had remaining?'

He saw Erik's eyes narrow.

'Seriously, Erik,' he said firmly. There was no fear in Nadir right now, there was nothing but exasperation from the Persian to the Frenchman. 'You're insane.'

'We both knew that,'

'Not murderous insane Erik…' Nadir growled. 'Just absolutely, stark raving mad.'

Erik laughed.

'And you're not even taking it seriously,' the smaller man let out a long sigh. 'This is _serious_ Erik.'

Erik's eyes clouded, the pupils grew slimmer as his glare focused onto Nadir's dark face. 'I'm not stupid, Daroga,'

'I knew this would happen…' he shook his head. 'As soon as I saw her Erik… I knew what you were saying, I knew it was all a front.'

'It wasn't,'

'Then what was it?' the Persian asked.

'It's my business,' Erik snapped. Nadir shook his head and glanced out of the window at Fiona working with the gardener in the fruit garden.

'Look at her, Erik,' he said, pointing outside. 'Just look.'

Erik stared at Nadir, the Persian good feel the blue fire of his eyes on his shoulders, but then he turned his head slightly and looked out of the window.

'What has she done to deserve this?' he asked. He watched as Fiona rested her hand on the gardeners shoulder and lifted herself back to her feet. She had dirt on her knees, her face was slightly red and her hair had fallen over her face.

Erik said nothing in response and Nadir turned to look at him. 'It's true that you have served her well Erik, she wants for nothing…'

The Frenchman's gaze found him and then remained there unwavering.

'But how many women do you know that will get down on her knees and dig in the mud with the staff?'

Erik shrugged. 'Perhaps she wasn't made for aristocracy,'

Nadir sighed sharply. 'Neither were you friend,'

'No,' Erik conceded, though his eyes stayed fixed to his friend.

'She's been good to you,' Nadir said, though feared he was starting to anger the phantom.

'I don't deny that,' Erik said simply.

'Yet you have a wild tryst with your employee in the garden whilst your wife is ill in bed at home?'

Erik nodded. 'And that is all it was,'

Nadir raised his eyebrows.

'Christine kept me company last night Nadir, nothing more,'

'Is that what they're calling it now?'

'Why are you attempting to make me feel as though I have wronged Fiona…'

'Which you have,' Nadir interjected.

Erik nodded. '_And_ taken advantage of Christine's innocence,'

Nadir laughed. 'She has no innocence left for you to take advantage of,'

Erik's eyes narrowed into a hard scowl, as the blue of his eyes darkened further. Nadir stared at him, resisting the urge to back away as he spotted the sharp flecks of gold caught around the Frenchman's iris.

'She is more innocent than you will ever understand, Daroga,' Erik's voice was deep and icy, and Nadir almost shivered at its gust.

'_That_ is innocent?' Nadir asked, rediscovering his courage.

'And by _that_… you mean?'

Nadir took a step away from Erik before responding: 'Last night,'

'Innocent cannot simply be described in the terms of ones sexuality, Daroga, don't be so naive.' Erik, stood quickly from his seat causing Nadir to jump back. 'Her innocence is in the fact that she still trusts me… _me, _Nadir… this creature of the night who has murdered men without a second thought, who has held her fiancé captive, threatened his life… this _man _who stalked her around the Paris Opera House… _her_ innocence is that she still believes in innocence and that she still believes in _me_.'

Nadir swallowed. 'And last night was just a wild tryst?' he said, finding his voice somewhere beneath his fear.

'Last night was yesterday,' Erik snapped. 'Today is a different day.'

'And your heart, Erik, where does that lie?'

'_What_ heart?' Erik snarled as he disappeared through the door to the hallway.

XXXXXXX

Fiona sat on the bench in the back garden, in the warm glow of the sunshine, relaxing as best she could with the weight of that morning crushing down on her shoulders. She had been through a lot in her life. Her father, like Erik's, had died when she was only young and her mother had been ill for most of her life, before she died seven years ago. Fiona had nursed her all alone for the last few years of her mothers fading life.

She had been courted by a couple of gentleman, one of which was in the nobility in Spain and one who was nothing, and everything, more than an English blacksmith. She had loved the blacksmith dearly, more than she ever could have loved the Spanish man.

It was not to be, however, as status was everything. Fiona may not have been upper class but she was certainly upper- middleclass. She often remembered her blacksmith fondly in her darkest moments. Fiona had actually resigned herself to remaining a spinster until that fateful night on the cross over from Spain the England almost eight years ago.

The night she met Erik Valesk.

She thought that he was the most mysterious man that she had ever seen. He and the baby.

Remembering the night brought warm tingles to her spine, she had wanted to know him, she had _needed_ to know him. Nadir had greeted her so readily, invited her into their fold, made her feel so welcome. Fiona smiled at the thought of the little Persian. Such a good man, she thought, such a very good man.

Erik had not been so welcoming.

His resistance was almost tangible as she tried to speak to him, often the conversation seeped through Nadir who did his very best to hold their chat together. And, as it turned out, his best was good enough. The mask was odd, she had thought, and she wondered why he wore it but it never put her off. A man that felt he had to cover half of his face was obviously as human as a woman who felt the need to tie her hair back and cover it with a dark hat.

The first time that they had kissed she felt his virtue on the tip of her tongue. He was inexperienced but tender, and that was simply enough. She had loved Erik Valesk from that moment.

She loved him then and she loved him now.

'Fiona,' his voice from behind her made her jump. He had the ability to sneak up on people that way, without them hearing even a rustle.

'Erik…' she said, her voice trailing away.

'I'm sorry I stayed out and did not send word home,' he said quietly. Fiona was surprised at the apology, astounded in fact. He had been so angry that morning that it would not have surprised her if she did not see him until he was leaving for the opera that night.

'I'm sorry I was angry,' she said softly. She meant it.

Erik took the seat opposite the bench and leaned forward. He reached out and took her hands in his, he stroke the back of them, raised one to his lips and kissed it softly.

'There are things we should talk about…' he said looking into her eyes. His eyes so earnest that she felt her heart jump. 'They aren't urgent… they are about my past.'

She nodded, listening.

'Now is not the time,' he said squeezing her hands gently. 'But tonight, when I come home, we will talk and I will tell you about my life,'

Again she nodded. Fiona never went to opening night with Erik, that pleasure was reserved for young Joshua. It was only right to allow father and son to share the most special night of their common enjoyment together. Fiona would go another night.

As they both sat there, facing each other, the silence around them nothing but a comfort after their morning argument, she thought about his words. What could he have to tell her about the past that he had not told her before. All of their life together he had been, for want of a better word, reluctant to disclose the events of his life but still he had told her plenty. She knew that his father had passed away suddenly when he was but a child. She knew this his mother went downhill from that moment and eventually she disowned him.

Fiona even knew that he had met Antoinette Giry at a carnival when they were teenagers and that they had been friends since. She knew that he had worked at an opera house in France, that he had designed buildings there and in Egypt.

What was he to tell her that he had not told her before and why now did he feel that he had to do so?

Fiona's looked up from her hands and her eyes drifted over Erik's face. They caught glimpses of it's purity, the smoothness of his strong jaw the angle of his powerful cheekbone… but always, always and always she found herself staring into his eyes and losing herself in the blue of their ocean.

Let me drown here, she thought, for I think I can not live without these eyes.


	52. Opening Night

**A/N: I cannot apologise quite enough for how long it has taken me to update this story. I'm struggling to write at the moment and I hope that this chapter does not disappoint too much. **

**I am around half way through Chapter 53 and so it will not be long before the next date, hopefully less than a week all going to plan. **

**RR I need the encouragement right now!**

**Thank you all for sticking with me!**

**Chapter 52- Opening Night**

Christine found herself feeling shaken by her morning with James. She had not realised the depth of his feelings for her and now, as she sat alone in the silence of what had now become her bedroom, she felt her heart sinking deeper into her stomach. James was such a wonderful man and in the few weeks she had known him he had become a good and trusted friend. Thinking back now she wondered how she had not noticed his feelings for her.

She looked down at herself, over her legs and her arms, balled her hands into fists and let them go loose again. Her body, her mind and her own self centred nature was the reason she had not picked up on James' feelings for her. She felt her eyes begin to sting and quickly swiped the emerging tear away. You selfish woman, she thought, and her body began to shake with the anger she felt at herself. All she had thought about for the last few weeks was Joshua and Erik, but really it could all be summed up as thinking about herself. She had become so used to it over the years, having to fend for herself and look after herself, that she now did it without thinking. Her mother had died when she was a baby, her father when she was a teenager, Erik had gone, Raoul had gone and then Joshua... but sometimes losing yourself within yourself could be a horrible mistake.

Poor James, she thought and she felt her heart dip further.

Part of Christine wished that she could feel the same way about him, she wished that she could love someone like James, someone so caring, so thoughtful... so kind... but James was simply not for her. Had it not been for Erik, for the way she felt about him, she thought that she could probably learn over time to love James but it would never have been right. It would never have been the way she felt about Erik or even the way she had loved Raoul.

She fought back tears as another knock at the bedroom door startled her.

'Come in,' she said, but this time her voice was quiet and the caller knocked again a little louder. 'Come in,' she repeated.

Joshua's face peered around the edge of the door and when Christine nodded at him, he walked right in and sat on the bed, without the shyness he had once had. She had seen him a few times over the last few weeks, he had played violin for her, spoken to her about his few friends, they had even played cards a few times though Joshua insisted on betting for pieces of fruit. It was a habit, no doubt, that he had picked up from watching Erik. Once in a while she sang to him quietly.

It hurt her to see him and for him not to know who she was but this was, she suspected, as good as it would get. Any contact with her son was good... it would just have to be good enough.

She watched him as he shuffled himself on the bed to get comfortable, forcing Christine to bounce slightly on the expensive mattress. When he finally looked at her his eyes were dark and concerned.

'What's wrong?' she asked, turning her body so that she was facing him.

'It's my father,' he said quickly and Christine felt her stomach somersault.

'What about him?' she asked, trying desperately to keep the nervous tone out of her voice.

Joshua seemed to think for a moment before he continued: 'He did not come back here last night...'

Christine swallowed, nodded.

'And when he came back he was all... dirty,' Joshua said. 'Do you think something bad happened?'

'I'm sure it didn't,' she said quietly. 'Did you ask him?'

Joshua nodded.

'And what did he say?'

'He said that he had been caught in the storm,' Joshua answered.

'But..?'

'He looked... different,'

Christine smiled. 'Because he was muddy?' she asked.

Joshua's response was to frown and shake his head.

'Then how did he look different?' she frowned in confusion.

'His face changed,' Joshua said. 'Like he was... hurt, his face was sort of sad, do you know what I mean?'

Christine nodded.

She knew.

* * *

James' back rested against the brick exterior of the outhouse. He was at the end of the garden hidden by the small building, sitting with his knees tucked up to his chest and staring out over the distant hills that surrounded the outskirts of London. Rubbing his eyes with his knuckles he felt the heavy tug pulling on his heart and he swallowed back the lump crawling into his throat.

_Chrissie_.

The experiences that James had had in his life had never compared to the last month and nothing he encountered in the future would either. In a matter of only weeks he had accomplished some of the greatest emotions known to man. He had felt confusion, he had fallen in love, he had felt the wrath of another man, he had felt his own anger, jealousy, his own disappointment and deepest of all, he now felt heartbreak.

The breeze washed over him as he tucked his knees into his chest, pulling them in with his arms, the blue sky touching the hills on the horizon seemed to deepen with his mood. As he sat alone he realised that he felt no anger towards Chrissie or Erik Valesk. He did not even feel betrayed because, despite his dreams and his wishes, he had known all along that Chrissie felt nothing for him. When they had spoken she had never denied that she cared, or that she saw him as a good friend but not love.

He felt the pang against his heart again.

When the footsteps approached from behind he didn't even flinch, Nadir had  
been skulking around him for most of the day and finally he had found his  
hiding place.

'What are you doing here?'

James leapt up and turned around. Erik Valesk stood looking at him, his hands tucked deeply into his pockets, his cool blue eyes reflected the skyline.

'Um, I...' James stammered but nothing coherent came out.

Valesk smiled and stepped past him to the edge of the garden and he himself looked out over the horizon. 'I've never been down here before,' he said, glancing back at James.

'It's nice here,' James said, although his throat felt tight.

'Do you often hide here?' Valesk asked, plucking a leaf from the hedge to his left and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

'No, sir,' James replied.

Valesk nodded. 'Would you like to attend opening night this evening?' he asked.

James blinked then frowned, Erik Valesk made no move to turn around or  
acknowledge James' surprise. 'I don't think...'

'I'm inviting you James,' Valesk snapped. 'Do you want to go or not?'

'Sorry sir,' James said, feeling his head bow through habit. 'I _would_ like  
to go.'

He _really_ would like to go. James had only ever been to the theatre once before, many years ago, when a younger Nadir had taken him and another friend as a birthday surprise. Of course, it wasn't opening night, in fact it was a matinee nearing the end of the shows run. Still, James had enjoyed it very much.

'Do you have suitable attire?' Valesk asked, turning around to look at James. His back was to the sun and it caused his face to be masked by shadow. James felt a cool shiver along his spine.

He nodded. 'Yes sir,'

'Then be ready at seven thirty,' Valesk said. 'You will be accompanying Fiona,'

James frowned. 'Sir, a question,' he swallowed. 'If I may?'

Valesk gave a slow nod but said nothing.

'Why is Madame Valesk going to opening night?'

Erik Valesk shrugged. 'I thought she should come,'

'Are you taking Joshua?'

Valesk nodded his head and began to walk away. 'Be ready at seven thirty... you're in Box five,'

'Er...' James stuttered. 'Monsieur Valesk!'

Erik Valesk turned slowly and let his eyes fix onto James.

'Is there any particular reason you want me to be there?' James asked.

'No,'

It was all as simple as that to Erik Valesk, the genius and the scholar… and then he was gone.

* * *

She was beautiful, no one would deny that. Her dark hair was pinned up into an elegant twist, showing the long smooth lines of her neck. Her dress was a deep emerald, matching the devastating shade of her eyes, and she wore nothing to conceal her beauty. Even in the cool of the evaporating winter the shawl she slowly slipped onto her slender shoulders was merely for the journey to the theatre. Inside the Opera House the skin of her shoulders were remain bare and for all to see, it could never be said that Fiona Valesk was not a woman of her own mind.

James patted the front of his suit nervously and glanced at himself in the long mirror at the bottom of the stairs. He stared at the black suit adorning his slightly trembling body, he felt a lump of sadness well into his throat and he swallowed it back down quickly. With only his finger tips he brushed the arms of the jacket and remembered it's origins. It was the only formal suit that he owned, other than the ones he worked in.

It had been his fathers.

And his father had worn it only once.

James took a deep breath.

'You look lovely James,' Fiona said as she walked from the dining room.

James felt a rather hot blush creep over his skin. 'Thank you, Madame,'

She smiled warmly. 'Perhaps I should be Fiona for tonight,' she said, and held a box out for James to take.

'Won't Monsieur Valesk...' James began taking the velvet case from Fiona's fingertips.

'Hush,' she said. 'He will spend most of tonight backstage and I will not have you call me Madame all night when you're sitting with me in an opera box.

'Very well, Mad...' He swallowed. 'Fiona.'

She smiled. 'Would you mind helping me with that James. Sarah has disappeared somewhere and Erik has already left for the theatre with Joshua.'

James slid his thumbnail under the edge of the box and let it creak open in  
his hands. Inside lay a small gold necklace, adorned by a blue jewel. When  
James looked back up from the box, Fiona Valesk had her back to him, with her neck bent slightly.

'Don't just stand there,' she said, and James heard the laugh catch in her throat. 'We have a show to get to.'

He struggled against his smile but could not stop it, and Fiona returned the sentiment as he placed the chain gently around her neck and clipped the back carefully. He watched patiently as she positioned it whilst looking in the mirror and the smoothed her dress down.

'Are you ready?' she asked, looking quickly from James to the driver. Both men nodded earnestly and the driver led the way, letting James hold the front door open for Fiona to step out into the cold night. The driver pulled the coach around and Fiona stroked the chestnut mares nose before walked towards the door and stepped inside followed by James, who closed the door himself.

As the horses set of, taking them to the theatre merely ten minutes away, James felt an uneasiness settle in his stomach. The cab was quiet for barely a minute before James felt Fiona's eyes drift over him.

'James,' she said, and he looked up at her.

'Yes Madame,' James gritted his teeth as he saw her frown. 'I'm sorry, Fiona,' he corrected.

She nodded. 'You love her, don't you?'

James felt his heart begin to pound rapidly in his chest, he felt a bead a sweat pool against his temple 'Who?' he managed to ask.

'Chrissie,' she said simply. 'You love her.'

Unsure of what to say or where to look he let his eyes fall to his hands resting in his lap. Was he that obvious, he thought, as he tried to mentally make his body cool back down.

The uncomfortable silence surrounded them until it was so thick that he feared not even a guardsman's sword could cut it. It was Madame Valesk who finally broke it.

'I'm sorry James,' she said softly, and reached out to touch his hand. 'You have as much right to your privacy as I.'

James somehow found the courage to look up. 'I do love her,' he said, his voice but a whisper.

'Then why do you look so sad?' she asked, squeezing his hand as your best friend might.

'Have you never heard the expression 'love hurts''? he asked, forcing a smile, attempting the lighten the atmosphere.

'I've heard it,' she said. 'And I agree with it... to a certain extent.'

James swallowed hard.

'Love should make us all happy,' she said softly, letting go of his hand as if what she had done was the most natural thing on earth. 'Love hurts me because sometimes Erik is somewhere else... somewhere that isn't with me.'

Her pause stiffened the silence once more and James felt his hands begin to feel slightly wet.

'Why does love hurt you, James?' Fiona asked, her sparkling eyes resting on his face.

'Because my love is only one way,' he said, suddenly wishing he had not agreed to go to the theatre, wishing he was back at the cottage in his room wallowing in self pity as a person was allowed to when they had had their heart broken.

'She doesn't love you in return?' Fiona asked.

He shook his head.

'Has she said that?' she asked.

'Not as such,' he said. 'But she does not need to tell me... I know.'

Fiona's eyes seemed to be searching him.

'Her heart belongs elsewhere...' he said quietly, fighting away a tear. 'It has for many years.'

'She lost someone?' Fiona asked.

'In a sense, yes,' he said, trying to guard his words as best he could. 'She's hoping to find him again someday.'

'Lets hope we all find the peace that we need,' Fiona said. 'Someday.'


	53. The Opera

**A/N: Thank you all so much for the reviews! I will reply individually as soon as I get a minute.**

**Please enjoy RR**

**Chapter 53- The Opera**

The space backstage was bustling with swarms of people holding props and costumes, running after the actresses and trying to encourage them to sit down. The nerves in the atmosphere were almost tangible as the orange gaslights cast flickering shadows around the anxious entourage. Back stage crew chew their grubby fingers, as they awaited the results of their hard work and unwavering dedication to the show. All of the people here knew well enough to know that if this went wrong... they would have Erik to answer to.

Christine felt the velvet around the belt of her dress, it tucked her waist in and made her look like the woman she was many years ago. The dress she wore for her opening scene was a soft purple, accentuating the very essence of her with it's material... it was soft when brushed down and rough when brushed up. She glanced down at her hands which were worn and older than they were the last time she was performing for an audience.

Her heart made a heavy thud against the inside of her chest and she raised her hand to rest upon the offending area. Erik was standing across the room from her, speaking to the conductor in a quiet whisper. Her eyes were fixed on him as he spoke, she watched him carefully and studied the way he interacted with the people he met.

The sigh escaped before she even realised that it was there. Erik Valesk... she thought... _Angel of Music. _

'Are you almost ready, Chrissie? Meg asked, placing her hand on Christine's shoulder. Meg had slowly become accustomed to calling Christine by her assumed name, though she did not like it one bit. Christine often cringed at the sound of the maids name on her friend's lips, it always sounded so harsh and very forced. Still, everyday things were becoming clearer... but the things that were clear before were now beginning to cloud over.

'Almost,' Christine answered, turning to face her best friend of what seemed like a hundred years. Had they really only been back together for a matter of weeks? It felt as though they had never been apart. Sisters, she thought, as she smiled at Meg.

'Are you nervous?' Meg asked, shooting a, what Christine could only imagine was supposed to be discreet, glance at Erik. He didn't catch it, he had not even taken his attention away from the conductor.

Christine nodded slowly. 'I'm always a little nervous,'

'Such a fib,' Meg teased, placing her arm around Christine's slender waist.

'It is not,' Christine insisted.

'You're only nervous when you sing for _him_,'

'Exactly,'

'Exactly?' Meg said, a frown creasing her pretty features. 'Exactly?'

'I thought you knew,' Christine said .

Meg's frown deepened.

'I _always_ sing for him,'

* * *

Once again he had the best seat in the house but this time he had not come alone. Erik glanced down at Joshua, who held the ropes and watched the performance intently, and smiled. For the first time in his life he shared his hiding place with someone and, if he was honest with himself, it was not all that bad. Joshua seemed to appreciate the view from high above the crowds, where they were undisturbed by coughing or movement and Erik, though he hated to admit it, just enjoyed the time with Joshua. 

Fiona and James were watching the Opera from Box five, in the luxury and comfort she deserved and that James was not entirely used to. Thoughts swirled in Erik's mind as the chorus leapt around on stage, flowing across the boards as if they had wings. He was still not sure what exactly had possessed him to invite James to accompany his wife this evening but, as he looked down at them watching the performance in the comfort of the box, he almost felt glad that he had.

It was obvious that he was losing his edge, he thought with a small huff. Apparently, the man he once was, was now tucking himself away to be a husband and father for eternity. Perhaps it was best for him? For them all?

And then _she_ sang.

Christine's first appearance on the stage that evening was a surprise to him. As she glided on he realised that she had never looked quite so confident as she did right at that moment. Even from the heights of the ceiling he could see her smile, see how she held herself, how her face lit up at the sound of the audience's ecstatic applause. It was obvious to him that Christine had missed this almost as much as she had missed her son.

What was he going to say to Fiona? His mind flipped quickly.

'Papa,' Joshua whispered, tugging at his arm. Erik shook himself from his thoughts and looked down at the boy sitting to his right. 'Isn't she beautiful?'

Erik glanced at the stage as Christine held her hand to her heart and stared up at the beams. 'She does look lovely,' he said as carefully as he could. Still, he felt as though he gave himself away every single time he spoke of her. She was the essence and bane of his very existence.

He saw Joshua nod emphatically. 'She has such a wonderful singing voice, papa,' he grinned. 'You've taught her so well.'

And for so long, Erik thought and let his eyes drift back to the stage, which she was commanding with very little effort.

'Papa?' Joshua said, causing Erik to look back at him once again. 'Do you think she gets lonely sometimes?'

Erik swallowed his surprise and took a deep breath. Do I think she gets lonely sometimes, he thought? What a question.

'I don't know,' Erik answered. 'You keep her company, don't you?'

Joshua nodded earnestly.

'Does she seem lonely then?' he asked.

'Sometimes,' Joshua said, squinting his eyes as if he was thinking incredibly hard. Erik smiled.

'I'm sure she never feels lonely when you're there,' he said.

Joshua grinned and then looked back at the stage leaving Erik to wonder where the darkest lines of life would draw him to next.

* * *

'Chrissie is magnificent,' Fiona whispered, leaning towards James so as not to disturb anybody else. She knew they were in the box alone but politeness dictated that she whispered. James body turned slightly. 

'I never realised...' James said, in the most hushed tone his deep voice could muster.

Fiona felt a smile spread across her lips. She liked James. She had liked James from the moment she met him many, many years ago. It had been Nadir that had introduced them and she found him pleasant and agreeable. More than that... she believed that they could trust him. It was hard to bring another person into your home and let them manage your things. Erik had always said that they needed someone they could rely on never to steal and never to divulge their secrets. He was right, of course, he was always right.

'Monsieur Valesk is very lucky to have you,' James said. 'I should have told you that in the cab.'

Fiona was stopped for a moment, surprised at James forwardness. It wasn't that she minded that he was so blunt but that she had not expected it. James had always been quiet and reserved, he would keep himself to himself more than any of the other staff... always so cautious about what he was going to say.

'Thank you,' she whispered and patted his hand. _'I'm_ lucky to have him.'

Then she looked at James face and she saw him smile.

'Don't you agree?' she asked, her voice low.

James nodded. 'I agree,' and suddenly his face was solemn.

'What?' she asked, unsure why James had changed so quickly. 'He hasn't lost  
his temper with you again, has he?'

Fiona knew what Erik's temper was like when it came. Fierce and in bursts. There had been occasions in their many years together that she had been terrified of him.

Still, he had never hurt her.

James was looking at her curiously. 'Did you hear me?' he asked, his eyes exploring her face.

'I'm afraid I drifted slightly,' she said, and smiled. She waited but his eyes did not go back to the stage, they were still on her, filled with curiosity.

'I said he has not lost his temper with me,' James said quietly as the thunderous sound of the orchestra built to a rapid pace. This was the pivotal scene in the opera, she thought to herself, as she watched the young male lead crouch in the centre of the stage as the drums echoed loudly around him. Erik always made sure there was a pivotal point, always made sure that his work followed no fixed patterns and no ones standards but his own.

Apparently, this was good enough for the audience. Fiona looked down over the balcony edge at the people sitting below, eyes fixed to the stage, their complete attention unwavering as the absorbed the atmosphere and the performances.

Fiona had married a genius.

She leaned back in her chair and stared at the stage. She had married a genius, she thought, but she had once been told that there was almost an unreadable line between a genius and a madman. Erik's actions sometimes made her wonder but she liked to believe that he was simply the unsettled genius that she had read about so many times.

_What did he have to tell her?_

* * *

The dark of the theatre surrounded the invited guests of opening night and only helped to highlight the mood stirring in his body. He never thought that it would happen but over recent years darkness had slowly become a quiet friend of his, a silent partner drifting by whether he felt that he needed it or not. His eyes scanned the backs of the heads in front of him and then the stage. 

Up to yet the blonde man had found himself mostly enjoying the performance, an opera not of a conventional variety but still with the same emotions and talent that people became accustomed to. How he loved the opera... in fact…he loved theatre in general. The feel of the atmosphere as the lights dipped and the voices shushed, the anticipation when the curtains moved back and the first Act began...

Of course, there were things that he did not like about the theatre or at  
least… about certain theatres.

The woman next to him reached her hand across and fingered his wrist delicately. It had little effect on him because he was not here to spend time with his attractive guest and he was not here to fraternise with the social parasites who seemed to feed off the word money. He was here to see for _himself_.

The blonde man glanced quickly around the room, he looked up at the boxes either side of the stage and in box five he saw the beautiful Fiona Valesk. She was a woman any man would like to get their teeth into, or their noose around, he thought, feeling a wry smile develop across his lips. The man next to her he did not recognise though he certainly was a dashing figure, surely the Valesk's had not taken someone new into their confidence after so many years of making a confidante of no one.

He moved his focus from them and back to the stage where the male lead was sitting with his feet over the edge, the gas lights had been dipped slightly and the focus was on the actor's silence. _Was he an actor_? The blonde man thought, or was that the wrong term? Suddenly, he felt fidgety and had to mentally control his urge to get up and move away. The attractive woman next to him must have noticed because she placed her hand over his and squeezed it firmly.

He turned his head and shot her a smile. Not dissimilar to the one he had  
shown her at her father's dinner party when they had first met... that was almost history now. When he was satisfied that the woman was no longer concentrating on him he looked up... he wasn't exactly sure what had made him do it but never the less his eyes drifted upwards, along the tops of the curtains and up past the chandelier.

That was when he saw it.

Not that he could see it very well, particularly, but up there above him... above everyone... was the dark figure of a man watching the performance from a perch seemingly fit only for angels.


	54. Awakening The Dead

**A/N: Thank you for the kind reviews. It's been an interesting week for me but I managed to finish this chapter and start the next.**

**Thank you all very much**

**RR**

**Chapter 54- Awakening the Dead**

When the gas lights dipped slightly and it was finally all over, Christine waited for the curtains to fall in front of her. As soon as they did she turned around to face Meg, who was grinning like a crazy woman. Christine could not help but return her friend's warm smile.

'You were perfect,' Meg said, running up and throwing her arms around Christine's waist. 'Truly!'

Christine felt a blush heat her neck. 'Thank you,' she said quietly, and gave her long time friend a squeeze before backing out of the embrace.

'I mean it, Christine,' she whispered in the bustle of people congratulating each other. 'You were amazing... you've made it this time.'

Christine smiled and began to walk towards the back of the stage. Meg followed and hooked her arm through Christine's so that they walked together slowly, taking in the atmosphere and celebration.

'I don't think you'll ever be a maid again,' Meg said quietly, as they walked through the back exit from the stage.

'I don't think I will either,' Christine said, and she meant it. She would never be a maid again and not necessarily simply because she had performed well that night. No, she would never be a maid again because she had re-found her drug. She had rediscovered the thing that kept her clinging to hope and strength. The one thing that gave her the freedom she now so often craved.

Singing to this audience had been that wake up call she had been waiting for, for what could easily have been an eternity. The way her heart had fluttered with expectation and with joy as she waited for her final song to be over and for the opera to finish. The crowd did not disappoint as they applauded animatedly, got to their feet and threw sweet smelling flowers onto the stage. She had picked a couple up before bowing again and waiting for the curtain to fall.

It had been so long since she had felt this release.

'Are you excited?' Meg asked her and she turned to look at her pretty friend.

'About what?' she asked, as they continued through the hoards of people showering compliments onto each other.

'About your new life?'

Christine smiled. 'It's not really a new life,' she said, patting Meg's hand with her own. 'It's always been my life, hasn't it? I've just been on a break for a few years.'

Meg turned and hugged Christine again. 'I'm very proud of you, Chrissie,' she gushed. 'You've been through so much adversity... and still you come through on _this_ side.'

Christine smiled again and thought about her adversity. It was true that the last seven years had been hard for her. She had once become accustomed to being successful and, if she were to admit it, wealthy. She had not been married to Raoul for long when disaster had struck them but in that very short period of time she had changed her life completely. Christine of old was the aristocrat through practise and she had found herself enjoying having servants, though she liked to think that she had treated them well. Christine glanced at Meg as they walked and had to stop a sigh from escaping. It was not until you experienced the unthinkable that you appreciated the goodness you had.

It was not long before they reached her dressing room and they stopped at the doorway. Meg held Christine by the shoulders and looked into her eyes.

'You're still the same Christine,' Meg said softly, as if reading her friends mind. 'You just have more life experience now...'

Christine found herself smiling at her friend's honesty.

'And I really am proud of you,'

* * *

Joshua was still feeling awestruck as the curtain had fallen to cover the stage and the gas lights and brightened once more. He didn't think, even in his studies, he had witnessed the sort of talent and emotion he saw tonight. His father should be proud of his work and his cast, he thought to himself as he lowered himself out of the hatch and onto the steps below. His father was just ahead of him, waiting for him to finish climbing down from the rafters.

Joshua appreciated that his father had shown him his secret hiding place. Now they had something that they shared and no one else knew about. He had liked watching the performance from so high up. The sound was not quite as good as in the boxes but you could see everything!

'Come on, Josh!' his father called, holding his hand out. Joshua quickly ran to him and grabbed his father's had quickly. 'Did you like it?'

'Of course I did,' Joshua said, slightly out of breath from his journey from above the theatre.

'What did you like most?' his father asked and Joshua knew a test when he heard one.

'I liked the feeling,' Joshua answered. His father looked at him for a moment and then broke into a small smile.

'What about the feeling?' he asked. 'What is the feeling?'

Joshua thought for a moment. 'I liked the way the cast took you into their world.' he said quietly. 'As if you were there living their ordeals with them.'

'Good,' his father commented, pausing for a moment. 'Anything else?'

Joshua nodded. 'You conductor did a wonderful job of keeping the darker pieces flowing.'

They continued to walk and his father smiled and gently squeezed the back of his neck. 'Good boy,' he said as they stepped through into the main entrance hall where people were milling around, talking about the play while holding drinks with fruit in them. He frowned at this peculiar phenomenon. He had seen the fruit in drinks before and had yet to quite understand the concept. If they wanted a fruit drink why did they not just squeeze some juice from an orange?

* * *

Fiona walked close to James as they squeezed their way slowly through the bustling crowd. It was nearly ten minutes before she spotted Erik and Joshua on the far side of the room. She smiled at Joshua looking around him inquisitively, as he always did, and at Erik holding his head high... as he always did. She tugged on James jacket to get his attention and then they both pushed their way through the crowd towards Erik.

'Erik,' she called and he turned around to face them. He looked happy, she thought, and so he should be. The performances had been utterly magnificent. the orchestra were brilliant and he was the talk of the town... by tomorrow, no doubt, the talk of the city and then by the end of the following week, the talk of the country. Queen Victoria had been in her royal box, she knew this because Erik had told her, although no one had seen her. She had obviously decided, on this occasion, to make her visit as discreet as possible.

Fiona smiled, her guards were everywhere so this was probably not as discrete as she had hoped.

'It was wonderful,' she said as she raised onto her toes to kiss his uncovered cheek. As she did an elderly couple walked towards them and Erik barely had time to acknowledge her kiss. Still, he shot her a small smile and then turned to face the approaching couple.

'Well there, Erik, what a wonderful show!' the man said, taking Erik's hand and shaking it vigorously.

'Couldn't agree more,' the lady said and Fiona guided Joshua away so that he was standing with her and James.

'I'm glad you liked it,' she heard Erik say and to the casual observer he seemed happy to be talking to them. Fiona, however, heard the low strain in his voice. He was not the best at socialising she thought before she turned back to James and Joshua.

'Did you like the show, Joshua?' she asked as he looked up at her, his blue eyes their usual sharp and unwavering brightness.

He nodded. 'Very much,' he replied. 'Did you?'

'Yes, it was fantastic,' she said and glanced at James, who looked very uncomfortable. 'James?'

He blinked. 'Yes?' he asked.

'Did you like the show?' she asked, watching him as he thought about a suitable answer.

Finally, he nodded. 'I did,' he replied. 'It is probably the most enjoyable evening I have ever had.'

Fiona smiled. 'Are you sure that was not just the company you were keeping, James?' she asked, flashing him a grin. His shoulders dipped slightly and he seemed to visibly relax before her eyes.

'The company was wonderful,' he replied warmly. 'But so was the Opera.'

She grinned placed her hand on Joshua's shoulder. 'Are you ready to go home?' she asked, looking down at him.

He glanced up. 'Can I say goodbye to my father first?' he asked.

'Of course, we all will,' she said and they wandered over towards the elderly couple who still had Erik cornered and looking increasingly unhappy about it.

'Excuse me,' Fiona said, smiling at the couple. Erik turned to face her. 'We're going to go home,'

'Already?' Erik said.

'I'm tired,' she said.

'Very well,' he said and leaned down to kiss her softly. 'I will see you later then.'

'Umm,' Joshua said, and stepped from foot to foot. A habit he had when he was nervous about something. 'Actually, can I stay with you papa?'

Erik glanced at Fiona. 'He can if you don't mind,' she said with a smile.

'Of course I don't,' he said and looked down at Joshua. 'You can stay with me.'

With that Fiona and James left Erik and Joshua to mingle with the crowds.

* * *

The blonde man had finally managed, after much practice, to lose his attractive guest. He realised that he could not attend the theatre on his own and not be considered a social leper on the other had he had not wanted to bring anyone who would weigh him down all night. When he had met the girl some months ago he had immediately taken an attraction to her. She was tall with dark hair and stunning figure and by the way she had been looking at him all night it was only a matter of time before he saw the figure for the flesh.

Of course, now a days once he had been with a woman he generally lost interest in her completely. They had this way of giving themselves to him so easily and then just their very presence would make him feel hollow and useless. It was not that he did not like the girls or that, under other circumstances, he would not have enjoyed spending time with them. They just simply were not the ones he wanted.

The girl he had brought with him tonight was a young lady called Elizabeth. He had taken her within hours of knowing her upstairs in the house her father was holding a dinner party in. She had been very good and very easy to get along with, however, she had been far to easy to get into bed with. The only reason he had seen her since was that he needed her company at certain social events and on the odd occasion needed her body to feed a hunger with in him. However, he had rapidly lost interest in her.

She had been harder to lose this evening than he had expected but when she had seen some of the chorus members she had gone to them and he had quickly flown in the other direction. He could not have taken her company for very much longer and he did not want to hurt her feelings. Despite his distaste he was still not as cold as he would like to be sometimes, he just did not have it in him.

It was getting late and when he looked through the window he noticed that it was a particularly bright night. The moon gleaned through the glass and lit the dark corridor before him. He continued to walk along until the gas lamps brightened and he was in an area surrounded by doors.

He was not quite sure which of these he was looking for.

All was quiet here, there was barely a sound to be heard and this disconcerted him slightly, making his heart beat a little faster and his pulse start to race. He knew that these nerves were perfectly well founded.

He stood in the middle of the hallway and looked at the doors around him. As he did he saw the door he was looking for. It was the one with the rose pushed through the handle. Slowly and almost gingerly the blonde man walked towards the door. The trembling in his hands began to increase and the heat in his body started to rise.

When he got to the door he almost had second thoughts but now he was there, wild horses could not drag him in the opposite direction.

He took a deep breath and knocked the door twice.

'One second,' came the voice from inside and so, he waited. 'You can come through now.'

He held his breath as he opened the door and stepped inside. She was sitting with her back to him looking down at the dresser. She had been expecting someone else which is why she felt she did not have to look around at her guest.

For a moment he could not speak, in fact, he was finding it difficult to think. She looked radiant. Her brown curls had fallen like dark angels over her bare, slender shoulders. The line of her back was perfect, with only a small arch. He wanted to reach out and stroke the skin, to touch her and feel her.

Instead he stood rooted to the floor, now unable to move at all. His mouth was open, hanging there wide, but no sound came out.

It wasn't until she moved slightly that he found the courage to speak.

'Hello,' he said quietly and then she turned around.


	55. Ghost

**RR- thank you all for your patience.**

**Chapter 55- Ghost.**

When the knock came at the door she had only just sat down at her dresser to remove the jewellery she had had to wear for the final scenes. She was expecting Erik to call by, as he always did after she performed, she just was not expecting him quite yet.

Still, she smiled to herself.

'One second' she called, and glanced quickly at herself in the mirror. She felt her heart pounding as she brushed the front of her dress and neatened her hair back over her shoulders. 'You can come through now,'

She looked down at her hands as she heard the door to her dressing room creek open. Christine was trying to control her nerves but she was so far unsuccessful. Her hands were shaking in her lap and she started to wonder what had happened to the calm and tough woman she was only just over a month ago.

It was silent in the room for what seemed like forever. For a moment she became concerned that he had simply left quietly without saying a word. When she heard gentle breathing she knew that this was not the case. Finally, after another minute of silence, she decided to turn and look around but just as she shuffled he spoke.

'Hello,' he said and Christine felt her heart leap into her throat. She turned around slowly and nervously, part of her not believing her own ears the other part praying it was true.

It _was_ true.

There in front of her, tall and handsome, beautifully dressed, with his long blonde hair tied back, was Raoul. It was as if he had never been gone. His eyes were fixed on her and she realised that he was trembling and that beads of sweat touched his light hairline.

'Raoul,' she managed to say, the sound dry in her throat and hoarse as it escaped.

He stared at her. Did not move nor speak, he simply stared.

Christine's heart felt as though it could stop at any moment as she looked at the man she had not seen in over seven years. This man, her _husband_.

'I thought...' she said quietly, but the rest of the sentence would not come out.

It was Raoul who broke the stodgy silence. 'I know...' he said. 'I… I escaped years ago.'

Christine looked at her shaking hands. 'Where have you been?' she asked.

'Looking for you,' he said and his voice was sweet.

'You found me,' she said quietly.

He sighed. 'Only by fate,' he said, his eyes dipping to look at his feet. 'I had nearly given up.'

'How?' she asked, looking at him... fixed on him.

'Christina Lovell?' he said, looking back up at her. 'Was Lovell not your grandmother's maiden name?'

Christine smiled. 'Yes,' she said with a nod. He had _not_ forgotten her. Then she thought about that night so many years ago. 'Oh Raoul...'

He looked at her.

'I left you,' she gasped, placing her hands over her mouth as her tears slowly began to fall.

'You did the right thing, Christine,' he said, stepping towards her. 'I could never blame you for that.'

Christine forced herself to look at him properly, to let her eyes drift over him. 'I...' she stammered, the words sticking like shards glass in her throat. 'How can this be?'

His eyes widened as he looked at her, hard edges gave away changes within him.

'I suppose I just don't understand,' she finally said, looking back down at her hands, feeling her breath become ragged as it left her mouth. 'I don't know how you can be here, standing in front of me when you've been dead for so many years.'

Raoul gave her a sad smile. 'I'm alive and well,' he said. 'I never died.'

Christine shook her head as a tear trickled a path along the edge of her nose. 'This is going to sound cruel,' she said, sniffing back her building emotion. 'It isn't meant to be but I have to be honest... that's what I am now...'

He nodded as if prompting her to continue.

'You've been dead for seven years,' she whispered, the sound of her own. 'Dead in my life, dead to me Raoul...'

His face was creased with hurt as she felt the deep thuds of her own heart as it broke.

'How was I to know that you were still alive?' she asked, looking up at him.

He forced a shrug but said nothing.

'Don't be angry Raoul...' she whispered. 'I missed you for a long time.'

He took a sharp breath in and let it out slowly. 'You don't miss me anymore?' he asked and Christine found herself unsure if it was a question or a statement.

'Not in the same way I used to...' she said softly. 'I had to battle through an awful lot Raoul. I had to fight against so much and there was no one there for me.'

He looked at the floor.

'I had to let you go, clinging to you was no good,'

'I missed you, Christine,' he said quietly. 'I miss you now... I didn't let you go.'

'Did you think that I was dead?' she asked, her eyes sore from the tears.

Raoul sighed. 'I could never really let myself believe that,' he said, his voice shaking. 'As I said... even when I was at my lowest ebb... that I was about to give up... I didn't.'

'Then you did begin to let go,' she said.

He shook his head. 'No,'

'You must have,' she said and her voice felt strained. It was as if every single sound was forced, as if her body could barely find the energy to talk. 'You were going to give up... that means...'

'Nothing,' Raoul interrupted, shaking his head. 'It means nothing.'

Christine took a long breath, trying to fill her lungs with the air that her body was craving. She felt suffocated, like there was no way for her to breath. Her face was hot and although she felt almost removed from it, she knew that the tears were still falling down. When Raoul had walked in he had looked dashing, the figure of aristocracy and wealth. Now, in only a few minutes he was dishevelled and torn. His soft features suddenly became older and greyer, his eyes were red and tired.

But he simply stood there shaking his head. 'I don't know what I was thinking...' he said, but he wasn't looking at her, he did not seem to be looking at anything at all. He was just staring.

'What?' she asked, gently. Part of her wanted to reach out and pull him close, hold him as if nothing has ever happened, as if he had never been gone.

His sigh broke her from the thought and she let her eyes drift over him. 'I don't know what to do now,' he said quietly.

'About what?' she asked.

'About this,' he replied, running his fingers through his hair. 'About you,'

Christine had no answer for him, no way of helping him or letting him know that everything would be fine. Somehow, all of a sudden, she didn't even know herself.

Raoul leaned against the wall. 'You had given up on me,' he whispered. 'And therefore, you have moved on.'

She frowned.

'I shouldn't love you but I do,' he said, his voice breaking. 'I always have and there is no doubt to me that I always will.'

'Raoul...' she whispered, but nothing followed it. She didn't know what to say.

He shook his head. 'You're not my wife anymore,' he said. 'Oh... we're still married but you're changed and so am I.'

Christine found herself nodding.

'And we both know what you're doing here,' he said his voice becoming edged and sharp.

'I'm sorry?' she asked.

'His opera...' Raoul said, and Christine could see that his hands were shaking violently.

'Raoul...'

He glared at her. 'Don't Raoul me!' he said. 'Don't soften your voice and act like it makes this better.'

Christine raised her hand to her chest in surprise.

'I know why you're here...' he snarled.

'Stop it!' she said

He looked at her. 'I know why you're here...' and then his voice cracked and he slid down the wall, tears rolling down his cheeks like angry rivers. He covered his face with his hands and sobbed quietly, as Christine watched on.

'Please...' she whispered, not really knowing what to do.

Blood shot eyes peered through gaps in his pale fingers. 'He is here isn't he?' Raoul asked through the cover of his hands.

'Who?' she asked.

'Who...' he said and began to laugh through his tears. 'Who she says, as if she doesn't know.'

Christine sighed.

'Who indeed,' Raoul choked on his words, on a sob. 'Him... the Phantom.'

Christine stared but said nothing. What could she say to that? To this man that was her husband... if only by name and memories.

'Erik Valesk...' Raoul said quietly, wiping a tear from his cheek. 'Is he not the Phantom?'

Christine sighed. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'You do,'

'There is no Phantom,' she said and it was the truth. He existed no more.

Raoul smiled ruefully. 'I have been invited to his events and I have seen him from a great distance but I have never actually met the notorious Monsieur Valesk.

Christine listened, her heart thudding fast.

'But I have seen the white of his mask...' he continued. 'He _is_ the Phantom.'

'The Phantom is dead,' she said.

'He lives,' Raoul said, nodding. 'He lives because _you_ live.'

Raoul pushed himself to his feet and looked down at Christine. 'I love you dearly,' he said. 'I want you back.'

'I don't...' she took a breath. 'I can't.'

'Because of him?' he asked, his eyes soft and sad.

She shook her head. 'Because of us,' she replied.

'I'll fight for it,' he said. 'Give me a chance to fight for us.'

As she opened her mouth to answer him she heard, at once, the most wonderful become suddenly the most chilling sound she had heard in years.

* * *

Erik walked quickly through the crowds of people, grabbing Joshua's hand as he moved. Joshua simply followed without question, clinging to Erik's hand as they finally escaped from the main hall and into the back corridors of the building, As his nostrils caught a waft of the damp and dust he immediately felt a sense of relief wash over him. 

He glanced down at Joshua who was tugging on his hand. 'Too much energy,' he said and the younger Valesk smiled up at him.

'Papa,' he said, with a grin. 'You can never have too much energy.'

Erik could not help but smile. 'I don't suppose you can,'

Erik was pleased. The performance had gone with barely a hitch. He admitted that, though he demanded perfection, this was the closest an opening was likely to get. So... he was reasonably pleased.

Christine was magnificent. She moved in an unadulterated, seductive flow of soft, pale skin contrasted by silky dark hair. Erik had watched, almost incapable of taking his eyes off her, as she sang and then he felt as his heart sank.

She was still the beauty to his beast.

He sighed as Joshua pulled him down the few steps to the lower corridors of backstage. As they walked in the darkness, with only a few gas lights burning dimly Erik was reminded of life at the Opera Populair. He felt his body tense at the thought of the way he was treated when he first arrived, if someone was to see him lurking they would scream in shock and disgust, running away quickly.

He worked hard to change this approach. There came a day soon after where no  
one ran from him in disgust because no one actually saw him. He began to use  
the power he had, his mind and his voice.

People heard him and rarely saw him. The cast, the managers, the audience were all left to develop their own theories of the mystical voice... the voice that booms and then fades away. Every once in a while he would let them catch a glimpse of his shadow... Erik always found their reactions to him amusing.

At this point there had never been a disaster nor had he ever hurt anyone. The occasional scare was all he did and he earned himself good money for their pathetic fears.

Of course, he never really needed to hurt anyone or do anything dramatic because the mere sound of his voice coming from nowhere was simply enough. In their own minds he was their worst fears and their very inner demons, there was no escaping from this ghost who lurked in the Opera house. He was everywhere and nowhere at all.

He smiled briefly at the memory.

But it all changed.

It all changed with Christine and it was never the same again.

The managers changed, the patron changed... the cast changed. Still, Antoinette Giry remained faithful and needed at the opera house. Erik was simply biding his time as he took control again, making his demands for payment.

And then she sang.

The voice had floated down the corridor towards him like a feather balancing on the breeze but it had hit him like a fist.

He was bowled over.

He remembered slowly creeping along the corridor and to the mirror in one of the dressing rooms. When he peered through there she was singing peacefully to herself wrapped in a white gown, sitting on a bed.

It was the only dressing room, he remembered, that contained a bed.

Did she live there, he had wondered, placing his hands against the back of the mirror as his warm breath hit the cool glass and created a mist.

She was stunningly beautiful though he could barely work out what it was  
exactly that made her so. She had similar features to many other women he had met yet... they just seemed so much more perfect on her. Perhaps it was because it was all there, everything that could be beautiful about a woman was encompassed in Christine not just one or two of the things men love but all of them. High cheeks, full red lips, long flowing hair and a shape to make any man crumble.

Even Erik.

When he had fallen in love with her all hell had simply broken loose at the Opera Populair. At first he was perfectly in control, as always, running the theatre quite well, he thought, from his perch high above it and his lair far below. Then it happened, defiance from the cast, new managers refusing his payment and the new patron falling in love with his Christine. Erik felt completely out of his depth, as if everything was slipping out of his grasp. He had decided that the only way to survive was to take control back.

So he did.

It hadn't all gone according to plan. Joseph Buquet could barely keep his mouth shut. The stories of the Phantom grew wilder... and more accurate. Something needed to be done about him and so it was.

Not quite when or the way he would have liked but still, it was dealt with. It was not as if he did not plan to kill Joseph, of course, that had been in his mind all along. It was simply that he had not planned to kill him so soon. The timeline was off because Erik had been forced to deliver on the promise he had made to the Vicomte.

Christine was not the lead therefore Buquet had died, the opera thrown into disrepair and the Chandelier shattered at the cast's feet. He had ensured, of course, that Meg Giry was nowhere near the stage but unfortunately, there was a member of the audience directly beneath it. Still, regretful as he was, her death only put more weight behind his threat.

_Then the rooftop_... Erik swallowed hard as he crashed back to the present. Joshua was staring at him wide eyed, small hand gripping Erik's fingertips.

'Papa,' he said softly. 'What's wrong?'

Erik shook his head and forced a smile. 'Nothing,' he said.

'Are you sure?' he asked. 'Your face... it...'

'I'm sure,' Erik interrupted.

Joshua smiled. 'Can I go now?' he asked.

Erik nodded. 'Go ahead, I'm sure she's expecting you.'

And with that Joshua sprinted towards Christine's dressing room.


	56. It's Just Me

**A/N: I would firstly like to start with a desperate apology. I do most of my writing at work but I have been very busy since my promotion. The writers block added in and I'm finding the story difficult. I thank all of you who have stuck with me and some of you in particular for your words of encouragement. **

**I'm not sure how many chapters are left to but I can't see there being more than sixty in this fic. Don't worry, for those of you still reading. I have not given up.**

**All of the questions will be answered and I will do my best to answer all of your reviews personally as soon as I get a minute. The story is going to 'Come to a head' if you like, very soon and I truly hope that you are all there with me when it does.**

'_So wide, so long  
So sad, I want to be strong  
Don't try to take her from me  
I've already spent my life living half undone' – 'It's Just Me', Blue October_

**RR**

**Chapter 56- It's Just Me.**

Christine stared at the door as she heard the sound of Joshua's voice on the other side, getting closer. The beat of her heart felt stronger as it leapt and she gritted her teeth, waiting for him to burst into her dressing room.

She did not have to wait long.

Moments later he bashed on the door with the palms of his hands and came running in like a train... unstoppable.

His face was bright with a beaming grin as he leapt up and wrapped his arms around her waist. 'You were brilliant, excellent,' he said, smiling so much that his eyes twinkled lightly.

'Thank you,' she said, swallowing hard. Her stomach jumped as she caught a glimpse of Raoul's face. His eyes were wide, his mouth agape, simply staring at Joshua.

He recognised him. She knew that this would come, she knew that he would ask about his son but she had not expected nor wanted this.

'Why don't you go and wait for me upstairs?' she asked, her mind searching for solutions. She knew that Erik would not be far behind.

Joshua looked at her and then, as if only just noticing him, around to face Raoul.

'Who are you?' he asked his voice frosty as he began moving away from Christine and standing in front of her protectively.

Christine watched as Raoul looked down at him, his eyes glistening with what could have been shock or simply tears.

'Don't you recognise me?' Raoul asked, stepping towards Joshua who then moved back towards Christine. She felt a lump grow once again in her throat as the air in the room became thick with her tension.

Joshua shook his head in answer to Raoul's question.

'I'm your father,' Raoul said, reaching out and taking Joshua by his tiny shoulders. Joshua froze, his eyes widened and terrified. Christine wanted to speak up but she could barely move, too terrified of the consequences to make a single sound.

'No...' Joshua said, wriggling, but Raoul held on tighter, tears welling in his eyes. 'No, no ... you're not... let go of me.'

Raoul frowned in confusion.

'Papa!' Joshua began to scream. 'Papa!!'

Christine stood and moved forward. 'Raoul let him go,' she said softly without moving too close. 'Please,'

'Chrissie,' Joshua choked, tears rolling down his cheeks. Is this what she had done to him only a few weeks ago?

But Raoul was too stunned to move, he just held onto Joshua with both hands, staring at him.

'Papa!! Father!!' he yelled again.

Christine opened her mouth to plead with Raoul again but as she did she realised that it was too late.

* * *

Antoinette heard Joshua's screams from the top of the stairs, calling desperately for his father. With out further thought she descended into the dark corridors and ran towards the sound of his terrified voice. As she found herself in the middle of the dressing rooms she saw Erik running from the other direction.

She looked at him, shrugged her shoulders and they both turned to face the door.

It was Christine's room.

Erik burst in and she followed but the horror that she had imagined was nothing compared to what she saw.

Raoul lived.

Erik stood just inside the doorway with his hands bunched into hard fists by his side. Antoinette looked down at his white knuckles and then back up, over the face of the ghost standing before her and then on to Christine, who was white and had obviously been crying.

Erik's fingers clicked. 'Get your hands off my boy,' he said, and, she supposed, to the untrained ear he sounded perfectly calm.

Antoinette felt her stomach twist into a tight knot as she watched Raoul turn to face his old enemy.

Raoul's grip loosened and Joshua pulled out of his hands and flew into the waiting arms of Erik, who pulled him affectionately to his side.

'You!' Raoul said, staring at Erik with hatred in his eyes.

Erik stared back but said nothing. Antoinette took a quick look at Christine, who was standing so silently; it was as if she was holding her breath.

'Won't you address me?' Raoul asked, stepping towards Erik. Joshua slid himself behind his father's legs.

Still Erik said nothing.

'Speak to me!' Raoul shouted. 'You tried to ruin my life and now you're back for another attempt!'

'Antoinette,' Erik said calmly and she looked at him.

'Yes, Erik?' she asked.

'Find the guards,' he said. 'And take Joshua with you,'

Antoinette frowned. 'Now?'

'We have an intruder,' Erik said simply. 'He needs to be removed from the building.'

'An intruder!' Raoul said, staring in exasperation at the man before him. 'If I am an intruder at least I am no impostor.'

'Monsieur,' Erik said, stepping towards the Vicomte. 'I would not know... I have never seen you before in my life.'

* * *

Christine stared in disbelief, the trembling of her hands becoming so severe that she was forced to clasp them behind her back. Erik was staring down at Raoul, his face dark and menacing, his eyes as cool as the stormy night. Raoul did not flinch, though, instead he stood his ground and stared back at the Phantom.

'I do not know you...' Erik said, reiterating his earlier statement. 'You must leave.'

Raoul's eyes burned with anger. 'You know me!' he shouted. 'You know me well,'

Erik simply shook his head. 'No,' he said. 'I'm afraid you have me mistaken for someone else.'

It was then that the guard burst in, grabbing Raoul by his shoulder and throwing him to the ground.

'Where have you been?' Erik said, glancing sideways at the tall guard.

The guard coughed. 'Patrolling the halls,'

'Not very successfully,' Erik snapped, looking down at Raoul. 'Get him out.'

'Yes, sir,' the guard said as he hooked his hands under Raoul's arms and began dragging him from the room

'No!' Raoul shouted his voice taking a disturbing tone of desperation. 'He knows me... Christine! Please...'

Christine stood frozen, staring at Raoul being dragged by his shoulders out of the door. He was kicking and shouting and then her eyes drifted to Erik, who looked calm but for the cool of his icy eyes.

'You have to listen to me,' Raoul said, obviously making the effort to calm himself. 'This man is a liar... he is not who you think he is.'

The guard shook his head and pulled a little harder on Raoul's body. 'Don't make this worse for yourself,' he said, his voice was gruff and deep.

'Listen!' Raoul shouted. 'Christine do _something_...'

But she didn't do anything. She barely felt as though she was breathing, it was as though she was not even there, like she was floating above it watching it through someone else's eyes. Her feet felt rooted to the cold floor and her hands trembled as if she really had no control over them at all.

When the door clicked shut, with Raoul still shouting behind it, Erik turned to face her. She was staring at the door, not looking at him, but she felt the cold air move around him like a shield.

She blinked and moved her eyes to look at his face. Erik said nothing.

'Erik...' she whispered as she moved towards him, arm outstretched with her hand reaching for him.

He stepped away but his eyes were still on her, darker than the depths of the ocean.

'Speak to me,' she said, her heart suddenly weak and her mouth dry.

But he didn't speak and she knew that no amount of pleading would end this silence. Instead of continuing what was obviously never going to work she turned away, heart sinking further, and walked to the dressing table.

As she placed her hands on it and her last tear dripped to the wood in a silent splash beneath her, she heard the door quietly click shut and she knew that he was gone.

* * *

Erik walked out of the room not really sure what he was feeling or what he was going to do about it. All he felt at this moment was that he needed to find Joshua and he needed to go home. He was not sure where Christine would go or if he would see her again. She was well known for giving up easily.

It was then that he saw Antoinette's shape walking towards him from the end of the corridor and clasping her hand was Joshua. When they approached him, Joshua's eyes were red and looked sore but it was obvious that Antoinette had done a good job of calming him. Erik just wondered what she had told him.

She had read his mind. 'I explained,' she said quietly, letting go of Joshua's hand so that he could run to his father. 'That sometimes things happen that are out of our control... and that no one has the right to grab him.'

Erik looked at her. 'Then I changed the subject,' she whispered as she hooked her arm through his.

The warmth of Joshua's hand in his actually made him shiver, made his hairs stand up as if some breeze of recognition has swept over him. Suddenly, he realised that it was soon to be all over. Raoul was not dead, he was not gone and though Erik had, had him removed from his theatre he would be back. Erik walked quietly with Joshua's hand cradled in his and Antoinette walking in a calm silence to his left.

She had always had there muted power about her, never needing to show her real prowess because one move of her stick, one sharp look, was enough. Antoinette Giry always gave Erik the confidence he needed when he was at his lowest ebb. She was his saviour and his friend.

Erik took a sharp breath. It had been a long path, the road he had taken here had wound a dangerous line but now he could honestly say that he had friends. The point and the reason for friends, he now knew, was someone that understood you. Erik was not and never would be a soft and gentle man, he wasn't passive or polite, he was who he was and Antoinette and Nadir both understood this.

Had Christine ever understood?

It was Antoinette's gentle touch on his arm that brought him back from his thoughts. She was looking at him with concern.

'What will you do?' she whispered, leaning into him so that Joshua could not hear.

Erik felt himself shrug but was almost removed from it. 'We both know what this means,' he said simply.

'Yes,' her voice was low and quiet. 'I don't think she knew.'

'Perhaps not,' Erik said. 'But he was still there, still allowed to stand in her room.'

Antoinette looked ahead of her. 'You're too hard on her sometimes,'

'I'm not,' he responded sharply.

'You're hurt,' she said, squeezing his arm gently. 'But for what reason, Erik?'

'She betrays me,'

'She betrays you not,' Antoinette said. 'Not this time,'

Erik shook his head. 'Do not side with her, Antoinette,'

'I side with no one but you, Erik,' she whispered. 'I'm trying to help.'

'Well, it's not working,'

Antoinette fell silent as they walked out of the back exit from the theatre. They found the coach waiting for them and Erik looked down at Joshua, who's eyes were looking tired.

In the coach Joshua curled himself up under Erik's arm and Antoinette sat opposite them, watching them the way she always seemed to. He wondered briefly if he had offended her but the sight of her sad smile told him that he had not.

It was only minutes before they arrived outside Antoinette's dark house.

'Goodnight, my friend,' she said and she stepped from the cab. 'Do what is right,'

And with that she was gone and Erik and Joshua were heading home.

But how long for?


	57. Bother

**A/N: Well, this is the longest I have ever spent writing a story of any kind. I have so far found it the most difficult and unrewarding of the things I have written. It has been my baby and my devil. For the most part, I have enjoyed writing it but there has been that small chunk of time where I have been ready to quit, finding it too difficult to resolve the corners I have created. But, alas, another chapter, or two, for your reading. This one was difficult but chapter 58 seemed to flow so quickly.**

**I would like to end my note by wishing you all a very Merry Christmas and a happy and prosperous new year- wherever you are and whatever you do. **

**RR- enjoy both chapters, I'm sorry for the wait.**

**Chapter 57- Bother**

The entrance hall was almost silent but for the rhythmic ticking of the old grandfather clock tucked away in the corner. There was very little light in the room as the gas lights had been dipped hours ago, the candles that still flickered did so with caution, throwing only glimpses of light onto his face. A glance at the clock told him that it was not quite one in the morning.

James rested his arms on his knees as he sat at the bottom of the stairs waiting for Chrissie to arrive from the opera. In truth, he had been waiting for a while now. He was not alone in his long wait, Nadir sat on the floor to his right, with his legs stretched out in front of him and his back against the wall. If it weren't for the Persian's white clothes James doubted he would be able to see him at all in the shadows of the hallway.

There was something going on, something had happened and now they both sat there in the quiet of each other's company waiting to find out what.

Erik Valask had arrived home nearly an hour ago, with Joshua lying, tired and almost asleep, in his arms. The first thing he had done was take the boy to bed and remain upstairs for nearly fifty minutes it was after this time had lapsed that he suddenly reappeared, and asked where his wife was. Nadir had been the one to tell him and with the information Valesk brushed past them and went to her quickly.

James has left her in the sitting room waiting up for Valesk and he had recognised the quiet nervousness that had surrounded her as she waited. Of course, it was not James' place to ask or to interfere, he simply left her alone and waited for her to call if she needed anything. She didn't call, he could only assume that she did not need anything.

Still, James waited. He could have gone to bed but he himself had to admit that he felt on edge and he had decided it was probably best for him to stay up for a while, until he at least felt a little tired.

He glanced at his friend who was staring at the ceiling. Neither said a word. Nadir had arrived home not long after James had left Fiona in the sitting room. His face was dark, almost stormy, and he had told James that he had a 'desperately foreboding feeling' in his stomach.

And so they simply waited.

After Monsieur Valesk had gone into the sitting room to see his wife, they had decided to sit in the hallway.

They had been there now for nearly fifteen minutes.

'Something is wrong,' Nadir said quietly, breaking the heavy silence in the room.

James glanced at him. 'I'm not sure what's going on,' he said, matching Nadir's grave tone. 'Where is Chrissie?'

'I was thinking very similar myself,' he said and then he simply stared towards the closed front door and let the silence wrap around them once again.

James was not quite sure if the silence would ever end.

* * *

Nadir found the dark an eerie event and avoided it at most costs. Unlike Erik he could not abide being out in the dark or living in dark places, or hearing dark words and having dark thoughts. Nadir much preferred the light and the sun, everything that shone and lit his face, warming it, was perfect.

When he was out he liked to be surrounded by lights and candles of any and all descriptions but mostly he liked to be surrounded by bright people.

Tonight seemed darker than most nights. He had this awful feeling bubbling in the pit of his stomach. It was a cruel and suffocating feeling, one that got a grip of your mind and body and would simply not let go.

He had not had a feeling like this in eight long years.

Nadir liked to see the good and fun in most people and situations, he liked to laugh and drink and spend his money like he did not have a care in the world. He did have cares, of course, but he thought it good for his sanity to act like he didn't every once in a while.

Tonight was different, tonight was dark... no, tonight was black. It felt black, tasted black and sounded black. Blacker than any night he had ever seen because at least the night usually had the moon to show its way.

He knew something was not right, even before Erik had arrived home but it was the dark blue of Erik's eyes that had quickly affirmed it.

Something was wrong.

* * *

Joshua lay in bed staring up at the ceiling quietly. He had not gone to sleep at all, not once, but he had closed his eyes and pretended to be sleeping so that his father could go downstairs and not worry about him.

There was a slow heavy beat in his heart that almost hurt as he lay there thinking. It was times like this, times when he was on his own, that he thought the most.

Joshua always tried to tell the truth to people, particularly to his father. This was mostly because he had learnt that telling the truth was one of the most important things in life but Joshua understood lies and he understood why people told them.

Tonight, he had lied to his father. When he had asked Joshua if he was going to be alright Joshua yawned as if he was tired and nodded his head. Then, after he had done that, his father leaned into the bed and kissed his forehead.

He rarely did that.

After Joshua had closed his eyes and pretended to begin to sleep his father had stayed for a while watching him. Joshua almost opened his eyes again to ask his father if he was alright, but he thought better of it. It was only a few minutes later that his father left the room and closed the door quietly behind him.

Joshua wasn't really sure how long ago that was but he had been lying awake since.

That man at the theatre, this was his fault, Joshua just knew it. His father was acting strangely and that man, that blonde man, had been shouting at him at the top of his voice.

Joshua screwed the covers up in his small fists and pulled his knees up to his chest, he felt a tear burn along his cheek but the fear was intense... as was his anger. He lay there, heart thudding, and he realised that he had never been so angry. The hot sensation was taking over his body, it was like his blood was boiling.

How dare that man grab him! Madame Giry was correct, that man did not have the right to do that.

Nor did he have the right to shout as his father the way he did and scare Chrissie like that.

Chrissie.

Chrissie knew him... yes, he remembered, Chrissie had said his name, she had called him Raoul. Was that the man's name? He was sure of it, he was as sure as the moon and stars that, that was what she had said. So why didn't she tell his father that she knew him?

Joshua suddenly felt more confused than he ever had and it was not a feeling he liked. Had she lied to his father too?

* * *

The door bounced open and Chrissie walked in, even in the dark James could see that her eyes were red and bloodshot. Nadir was right, something really was going on here. James leapt to his feet and walked over to her, placing his hands on her arms gently.

'Chrissie, what's happened?' he asked.

She looked into his eyes. 'Nothing,' she said, and her voice was colder than he had ever heard it.

'You've been crying,' he said, hands still on her arms.

'Really,' her voice seemed softer now. 'I'm fine.'

James glanced over his shoulder at Nadir, who had not moved but was watching them with his keen eyes.

'Where is Erik?' she asked, but she was no longer talking to James. She too was looking over his shoulder, eyes on the small Persian.

'In the sitting room,' Nadir answered.

Chrissie pulled away from James and stepped past him quickly, walking towards the door to the sitting room. This was when Nadir stood up as if guarding the door.

'Christine,' he said, and James could only look on as an observer.

'Nadir, let me pass,' she said quietly.

He looked at her. 'Don't do this to yourself,' Nadir said gently.

'Nadir...'

'Please, Christine, be patient,' Nadir said quietly but James could hear the growl behind his words. Nadir was looking at her, his eyes asking her questions, and asking her to ask questions of herself. He saw this in his old friend. Nadir had soft, dark eyes that could peer into your soul.

Chrissie simply stepped to the side. 'I need to see him,' she said firmly but Nadir stepped across her path with his hands out in front of him.

'What is so important?' he asked.

'Let me tell him first, Nadir,'

He shook his head. 'You can't simply walk in here as you have and turn his life upside down.'

Chrissie stared at him.

'Just let him be,' Nadir said. 'Let him make his decisions and deal with whatever it is he has to deal with,'

Chrissie's eyes grew cool. 'He needs to deal with what I have to tell him,' her tone was sharp.

'Christine…'

'I would not tell you it was important if it was not,' she said simply. 'So let me pass,'

'I can't,' Nadir said and his sorrow now sounded genuine. It was as if while he stood there pleading with her he saw her pain and her anguish, and felt some of the sympathy he was so well known for.

'But you must,'

'I can't,' he repeated.

'You are not his keeper,' she said.

Nadir shook his head. 'But I am his friend,'

'His friend would let me pass,' she said.

'Why?'

'He is in danger, Nadir,' she finally said.

Nadir blinked but said nothing.

'I'm telling you the truth,' she said. 'I wouldn't lie about this,'

Nadir nodded. 'I know,'

With that James watched as Christine moved past Nadir and he relinquished his stand outside the sitting room door. He hand gripped the door handle and she pushed through it, shouting 'Erik!' as she did.


	58. Phantom

**Chapter 58- Phantom**

The sound of her voice resonated in his ears for what could have been an eternity. Erik stood still, eyes fixed on Christine's slender figure in the doorway, hand resting on the fireplace. He could almost feel Fiona's questions as she sat in the seat opposite the fireplace but he would not dare to look at her because to do so would be his complete undoing.

Fiona broke the stiff silence. 'Since when does she call you Erik?' her voice was light, he could barely place the tone at all and that unsettled him deeply.

Aside from this, he could feel her eyes upon his skin, penetrating and probing and watching him for answers. Now he knew that he must answer her with the only thing he had left, the only thing that could stop all of this and bring them all towards a resolution.

'Since she stopped calling me angel,' he said quietly, still not able avert his eyes from Christine.

Christine now stood silent and, just over her shoulder, Erik could make out the shape of Nadir, standing behind her. It was quiet for a long moment, everyone seemed to be absorbing the weight of Erik's words... the truth.

'Angel?' Fiona asked and Erik nodded slowly.

'It's been a long, long time since anyone called me that,' he said as Christine steadied herself on the handle of the door. 'Why are you so silent?' he asked, eyes fixed on her pale face.

She looked at him and he watched as her fingers curled around the cool metal of the door handle, he could see her skin turn white with the tension.

Fiona stood and moved to the centre of the room, breaking Erik's gaze on Christine. ''What is going on?' she asked, her pretty face creased with what could have been misconstrued as confusion, for some reason, Erik knew that it wasn't. What it was, though, he did not know.

Erik tilted his head to the side and looked over towards Christine. 'Very good question,' he said, feeling the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Erik's heart thudded hard in his chest. He had just been about to tell Fiona about himself, about his past, when Christine had stormed in shouting his name. This was now the stand off that had ensued.

Christine looked frozen as she stood there, gripping the door handle as if it was her saviour and the only thing holding her upright. Erik could see Nadir more clearly now and he saw that Nadir's face was dark with his concerns.

'I need to speak with you,' Christine managed to say, her face flushed.

He glanced at Fiona. 'Can it wait?'

'No,' she said, shaking her head.

Erik thought for a moment. 'I'm busy at the moment,' he said turning his voice cold.

'It's important,' she said.

Fiona glanced back at him. 'So important you would take a man away from his wife?'

Christine fell silent.

'Well, tell him.' Fiona said with a voice laced with tones he had never heard from her before.

'In private,' Christine said, almost timidly.

Fiona glanced back at Erik. 'Is this not private enough for you?' she asked, looking back at Christine.

Erik stood motionless watching the events unfold before him. He stood there wondering what he should do; should he stay still in the undoubtedly vain hope that this would wash him by and give him a little more time? Or should he speak up now and confess the truth? He stared for a moment longer knowing that he was damned either way, damned no matter what he did. Some damage was irreparable, he knew that all too well.

He had made his decision.

* * *

Nadir watched the proceedings in abject horror, over Christine's smooth shoulder. Erik looked almost defeated, as he stood by the fireplace, looking at Christine's shadowed form before him. Nadir knew his friend well and watched as the blue of his eyes deepened to a shade reminiscent, from a distance, of black. Nadir knew from the look on Erik's face that his friend felt trapped yet this time there really was no way for Nadir to help him. And so he stood there, looking over Christine's shoulder, utterly and completely helpless.

There were two things that surprised him at that moment, the first was just how quiet Christine had fallen, under the deep scrutiny of Fiona's eyes. The second, was the calmness surrounding Fiona, who stood central to the scene, looking from Erik to Christine. Yes, it was Fiona's calmness that worried him the most.

Nadir thought for a moment, yet did not take his eyes away from the people in the lounge. In such a strange situation, he mused, as this was. How would the average woman feel, how would she react and respond? Nadir, moved to the side slightly to get a better view. He thought that a woman in Fiona's situation, having been burst in on in such a rude manner would be in quite a flap about it.

Coupled then with her husbands response to her first question...since when has she called you Erik? one would think that the normal would look more confused or concerned. Fiona looked none of these things.

She simply looked calm.

And that worried Nadir more than anything.

* * *

Christine held on for grim death, as if the brass door handle could save her from the situation she now found herself caught in. She needed to speak to Erik, it was becoming too desperate for words, but with Fiona there her list of options was cut significantly shorter. Erik was obviously still furious with her, his tone told her that much, but his admittance that she had once called him Angel has shocked her.

Was tonight, in this room where all of this would end? She looked at Fiona, who was truly magnificent and suddenly, for the first time in weeks, she felt insignificant. Christine realised that her own prettiness paled in the sheer beauty of this woman standing before her. Erik had chosen well, she thought, as her eyes rested on Fiona's delicate face.

Christine's stomach tied itself into a tight knot. 'Please...' she said quietly but it appeared that there would be no budging from Fiona.

Erik stepped into the centre of the room and, much to Christine's heartache, stood next to his wife.

This was when Christine made her decision.

'He is coming,' she said, eyes unmoving and set upon Erik's dark face.

Fiona frowned. 'Who is coming?' she asked but Christine did not answer, she simply watched Erik for a reaction.

The reaction she got was a cool and steady nod. Only once because once was simply enough. They understood each other now and probably, truly, for the first time ever. This was no longer about their heartbreaks and love, or any conceivable lust that welled within them. No more was this about his home or his money or any of his worldly possessions.

Christine knew and so did Erik.

Fiona looked up at Erik as Christine looked on silently. 'Is he going to take you away?' she asked, almost childlike as her eyes settled upon his.

He shook his head. 'I can't let him...' he said quietly.

Oddly, Fiona seemed to understand this and hooked her hand carefully through his. Christine watched as she squeezed it and suddenly a wave of jealousy washed over her body. In the dim light of the room Christine fought her demons and let the feeling drop, allowing it to be replaced by the sadness drawn from the realisation that Erik could love another woman.

And another woman could love him better than Christine ever could.

'Where will you go?' she said, hushed almost to a whisper.

'I don't know.' he said. 'But I need to explain... before I do go.'

Fiona placed her fingertips on Erik's lips, causing another sharp pang of pain to rush through Christine's veins.

'You don't need to explain,' Fiona said quietly and Christine spotted the dampness of a tear settling under her eye. 'I already know.'

Erik stared at her in silence.

'I know who you are,' she said. 'You are the Phantom of the Opera,'

Christine heard Nadir's gasp from behind her but she dare not turn around, her gaze was glued to the scene in the living room.

'I've known since the day I tried to remove your mask,' she continued, voice trembling with repressed sobs. 'I know that you are he, you are the man beneath the Paris Opera house, you are the man they all feared... the ghost. You are the murderer and hunter and thief...'

'You knew all of this,' he said, frowning, for once not one step in front.

'Do you know what you are, Erik?' she asked, her eyes searching him.' Because I don't think you do.'

'I am he,' Erik said calmly. 'I am the murderer... the monster you speak of.'

Fiona shocked them all by letting out a small laugh. 'You are nothing of the sort.' she said and Christine watched as a tear dripped from her face to the cold wooden floor.

'If only you know...' he said.

'I know,' she interrupted. 'You are the man I love, the man I have loved since the moment I met you... you are my love.'

Erik's silence almost deafened Christine as she watched, heart aching.

'But I know that I will really... never be yours,'

'I'm sorry...' he whispered.

'Don't be,' she said. 'You have loved me as best you can these years, you and your son have been my life.'

Erik glanced at Christine, his eyes questioning, he undoubtedly thinking the same thing as she was. If Fiona knew all of this, if she knew who Erik was and what he had done... then did she knew who Christine was? Did she know about Joshua?

The answer came soon enough. 'I'm sorry you have had so much heartbreak,' she continued. 'And I'm sorry that Joshua lost his mother.'

Christine stared in disbelief. She didn't know. How could she not know?

'There's more to this, Fiona,' Erik said, his voice was low and quiet.

'More?' she asked.

He nodded. 'My deception is deeper,'

She looked at him.

'I never married Christine,' he said, his voice still calm but Christine could hear the power slipping from it. 'Joshua... he...'

'What?' she said, looking up into his eyes, searching them for the truths she had not been able to discover for herself.

'Christine did not die... she left me,' he said quietly. 'We were never married or engaged... we barely courted.'

As Christine watched on silently, feeling her heart racing and her head pounding, Fiona stared at the man she had married. She nodded, but said nothing.

'She married another man,' he whispered. 'The man who is coming to find me now, with the police no doubt, the man...' he choked and Christine wanted to reach out for him. 'The man who is Joshua's father.'

Christine placed her hand over her mouth to stop herself from speaking, to stop her emotions from pouring out. She felt a tear trickle through her fingers and rest on their tips.

Fiona's face was still calm as she watched Erik's eyes with almost as much care as Christine always used to. The thought hurt her but the more she tried to banish it from her mind the harder it fought back.

'He looks like you,' Fiona whispered.

Somehow, Erik forced a rare smile. 'Coincidence.'

She nodded.

'I'm sorry I lied to you,' he said and Christine knew that the sentiment was as genuine as she had ever heard. 'I had no choice... I hope you understand that this... you... it was never supposed to happen this way.'

Fiona simply nodded.

Christine was almost holding her breath as she stood there, rooted to the ground, unable to move even her lips to speak now. Erik sounded... he sounded... she felt her heart jump... he just sounded like a man.

'I have to go,' he said, looking at Fiona, his blue eyes absorbing her face and breaking Christine's heart, all at the same time.

'I understand,' she whispered, grabbing his hands and holding them. Christine steadied herself, once more, on the door.

'Everything is yours,' he said quietly. 'They won't take it... deny you know where I am, tell them that I have left you without word...'

It was then that Fiona's tears finally began to fall freely.

'That you have not seen me...' Erik continued.

Fiona looked to the floor but Erik slid his hand under her chin and tilted her face to look at his. 'Promise me you will try to keep the opera open... that's all I ask.'

She nodded.

'Fiona,' he said, when she tried to look away again. 'I have loved you... I know that you know that. It was never really going to be enough... but I did, with what I allowed myself...'

Without a word she reached around to the back of his neck and pulled him close, touching her lips to his and kissing him like they would never see each other again.


	59. Rush

**A/N: excuse typos… many apologies gone up unedited as I was trying to get it up before new year and I probably won't get chance tomorrow. **

**Have a good one!**

**RR**

**Chapter 59- Rush**

James often thought that it was the case that when people told you something they inevitably held something back, just in case. As he stared into the living room of the Valesk home he now knew that this was true. He had always been kind natured and genuine, when he chose to tell to tell someone a fact about himself it often became an outpouring of everything he had. He didn't really know why he did this or where it came from, but once he trusted someone, he then trusted them completely. Obviously, this was a fault of his and not one of his more endearing characteristics because no matter how much he told, no one every really gave him the same back. It wasn't as though he expected people to tell him everything, that would be absurd, but at least the truth... that would be nice.

The heat in the room, despite the coldness of the night, was almost overbearing. It was as though the flames of hell licked at their legs as they stood watching. The Phantom of the Opera, he thought to himself, and let out an involuntary sigh. Chrissie had never told him all of the truth, not even close, and as he looked at her now he felt little but pity at her lack of trust.

It was obvious to him that Chrissie loved Erik Valesk and so he had little trouble dismissing the reason for her lying as being that she was scared of him.

Then, as his eyes drifted over Chrissies profile and he saw the way she was looking at Valesk he understood. She was not lying out of fear for her safety, he doubted she had one ounce of fear of him, no, she was lying to protect him. Suddenly, with that realisation, he understood.

James loved Chrissie, that much was true but he realised that the love Erik Valesk and Chrissie shared would probably transcend all others in all the ages. In that moment, he knew that no matter how deeply he himself loved Chrissie, that his soul fell just that little bit short.

James had never loved that way before and now, looking at Chrissie's tear filled eyes, he realised that he probably never would. That this type of love would probably come along once every cool, blue moon and often pass someone by without them realising just what they had missed. Those who caught it right away were destined to be trapped by it forever. Through every heartbreak and misery it could possibly throw. A love like theirs would probably, eventually, be their undoing and their downfall. It would burn them out completely.

But at least, he thought, they would be burned out together.

* * *

Erik held Fiona's shoulders in his hands and moved her carefully away from his body. So she knew. Her lips had felt hot and desperate, and the kiss made him feel as though the world was coming to an end right then. As she stepped back from him the emerald of her eyes gleamed with the shimmer of held back tears.

He let his hands drop to his sides.

Fiona's eyes were seeking his and he let them lock for a moment and he thought that for the first time in his life he really did not know what to do.

'I need to go,' he heard himself say, but somehow he didn't feel as though he were part of the statement.

Fiona simply nodded her head and then looked at her hands.

Erik felt sorry, he felt his heart wrench hard in his chest as he looked at the torn woman he was leaving behind. Still, he didn't think that was much point left in expressing his regrets. What was done was done and it was time he pulled himself together.

Despite this he could not, no matter how he tried, resist the urge to reach across and touch the soft skin on her cheek. She placed her hand over his and it felt warm on his cool fingers. 'Good bye,' she said, and there was choke in her words. As he took his hand away from her face the facade shattered and she broke down, falling onto his chest and throwing her arms around him. 'Stay Erik...' she sobbed, and he looked away from her as she clung to him. 'We'll hide you.'

He shook his head. 'No,'

'Then take me with you,' she whispered.

Erik grabbed her elbows and pulled her away from his body. 'I can't,' he said firmly, and felt bile rise, hot, in his throat.

'Erik...'

He shook his head and stared coolly into her eyes. 'I said no,' he snapped, and as much as it pained him he knew that he simply did not have the time to deal with the mess he was leaving behind.

It was then that he rediscovered some courage and turned to look at Christine. Her face was as pale as the high moon and her eyes looked red and sore. Women and tears, he thought, as he stepped away from Fiona and took a long, deep breath.

'Nadir!' he shouted, and waited as the Persian brushed swiftly past Christine and stood in front of him, his dark eyes imploring Erik for an answer. 'Get the horses, we'll need two,' he continued.

'Are you sure?' Nadir said, as if reading his mind.

Erik nodded solemnly. 'One for you and one for me,'

Nadir simply nodded and turned to leave.

'James,' he said firmly and the butler ran in quickly, he too looked astonished but stood quietly, waiting for instruction none the less. 'Get Joshua out of bed, tell him to dress quickly and pack him a small bag of clothes,'

James nodded in understanding.

He heard Fiona gasp. 'Leave him here,' she said quietly.

Erik shook his head firmly. 'No,'

'Don't put him through this,'

'He comes with me,' Erik growled, feeling a burning in the depth of his heart. 'Only me.'

Fiona stared in silence for a moment before blinking a tear away and then nodding her understanding.

With her acknowledgement Erik looked around him, Nadir had gone to do what he had been asked to, as had James, leaving only the three of them alone in the room. Erik, Fiona and Christine.

One look at Christine's dark eyes told him that she had something to say.

'What about me?' she said, her voice almost inaudible.

Erik glared. 'What about you?'

'What do I do?' she asked, eyes filled with tears.

'Stay here,' he said, but he realised that his voice was losing it's edge.

She stepped into the room. 'I didn't know,' she said quietly but they both knew that Fiona could hear. Erik could feel her eyes on him, burning into him with questions that he simply had not time to answer.

'Yet he was there,' Erik said simply and brushed past her.

He heard as two sets of footsteps followed him into the hallway.

'I need to go with you,' Christine said.

Erik stopped walking and stood completely still, he felt the hot sensation pour into his veins, felt his heart beating wildly.

'I don't have time for this,' he snapped.

'I can't stay here,'

He spun around. 'You don't have that option,' he said, but was distinctly aware of Fiona's presence as he did.

'Erik...' Christine said but he turned and walked towards the front door.

* * *

The air in the room seemed heavy and dark as Fiona stared through sore eyes at Erik's back. Her mind felt blurred in a flurry of tearful confusion and she felt almost numb now.

There was still something niggling her, something that her mind had buried beneath the layers of information it had consumed that night. She stared from Erik to Chrissie and then let her eyes drift back to her husband.

'Wait,' she heard herself say, but it seemed like an echo of her consciousness. 'Why would she call you angel?'

She watched in silence as Erik turned slowly to face her. When she at his face she could not judge him or his emotions, she saw nothing there except for a blank and cool expression. It was as if the man she had spoken to alone only an hour ago was now gone and had been replaced by some other man with no emotion.

Fiona glanced sideways at Chrissie who was seemed frozen in her silence and then she looked back at Erik, who stood completely still, eyes dark and lips sealed.

She was not exactly sure where her courage was coming from, though her Erik did not frighten her this man seemed different.

His eyes darkened and he turned away again, heading purposely towards the door.

'Erik,' she said, and sounded calmer than she felt. 'I need to understand,'

It was the truth, she thought, as he turned around once more to look at her. She needed to understand because as desperately as her mind sifted the information the blur of events had landed her with a depth of utter confusion.

'I haven't got the time for this,' he growled, eyes shining the low glimmer of dim candles.

Fiona could not stop the sorrowful sigh that escaped next. When she looked at Chrissie a tear spilled from her eye and caught in her eyelash.

'You're leaving me Erik,' Fiona said, feeling the pull on her heart as she did. 'At least make me understand the rest... your whole story.'

But Erik simply shook his head.

It was at that moment that James, clutching a bag, came running down the stairs, closely followed by Joshua.

'Papa?'

Fiona looked at the boy, looked at his tired, pale face and his red eyes and she watched the way he looked at Erik. Soft eyes focused firmly on his father, the father he had always known. Fiona knew that there was so much more to this story, more that Erik could tell her and there was more to Joshua. Her desperation to know was almost overwhelming but she stood quietly for a moment, her heart finally settling to a beat that was bearable.

'What are we doing?' young Joshua asked and Erik tilted his head to the side. It was a gesture he reserved only for his son.

'We need to leave,' Erik said simply but his voice was as soft as this situation allowed.

Joshua looked at Fiona and then to Chrissie. 'Why?' he asked. It was a fair question, she thought.

'Can I explain later?' Erik asked, stepping towards James and lifting the bag from his arms.

Joshua seemed to think for a moment before nodding and following Erik to the front door. It was Chrissie who spoke next, as Erik's hand reached out for the door handle.

'I need to come,' she said and Fiona heard the urgency in her voice.

Erik turned. 'You can't,'

'I will not listen,' she said simply. 'I will follow.'

Fiona was taken aback by the firmness of the young woman's tone.

'How will you?' he asked sharply, his eyes piercing her skin.

Fiona almost stepped forward but she stopped herself. It was true that she felt she needed to know what was happening and she needed to understand who this woman was and why this was all happening but somehow she knew that it would unfold itself.

'I found you before,' she said simply.

Erik shrugged. 'I let myself be found,'

'I know you,' she said but her voice has softened.

'You are safer here,' he said firmly as he ushered Joshua closer to the door.

'I know where I am safest,' Chrissie said, stepping towards Erik.

Erik looked at her for a moment before shaking his head. 'You caused this,' he growled. 'You will stay here.'

Joshua looked up at them. 'Is this because she didn't tell you that she knew that man?' he asked.

Fiona looked at Erik, who's eyes rested, lips slightly parted, on the face of this young boy. 'She hasn't lied to me,' Erik said simply.

'But…'

'We need to go, Joshua,' Erik said. 'Now.'

Joshua stood still for a long moment before a tear trickled down his soft cheek. 'I'm scared.'

Fiona resisted the urge to leap forward and wrap her arms around him. He was so young and so very fragile, Joshua deserved better than this.

Fiona expected Erik to speak but instead Chrissie broke the silence. 'It's fine,' she said gently. 'Everything will be just fine… and so will you,'

It was then that Fiona saw it, as Joshua stared up letting his blue eyes rest on the soft skin of Chrissie's face. The resemblance was so striking it was almost too hard to believe that nobody had seen it.

'Your father will take care of you,' she said, crouching so that she was looking into his eyes. 'Has he ever let you down?'

Joshua shook his head.

'Then you go,'

'Are you coming?' he asked.

Chrissie looked at Erik. 'Not just yet,' she said quietly. 'But I shall catch you up.'

Erik grabbed Joshua's hand and looked at Chrissie.

She seemed to force a smile. 'I _will_ catch you up,'

* * *

'Right then lads,'

The men stood around him hanging on his every word, as they always did.

'These are the orders,'

They listened carefully as the tall stocky man in his police uniform gave them their instructions slowly and carefully in the dark of the still night.

'You are to enter carefully,' he said sharply. 'There will be no breaking things or knocking things over.'

'Sir,' said the men.

'You are after the man wearing the mask only and no other,'

'Yes sir,'

'You are not to harm him,' he continued. 'He is to be taken alive and completely unhurt,'

'Are you joking?'

The sergeant turned to face the aristocratic blond man to his right. 'Do I sound like I'm joking?'

'No,' he said quickly. 'But you must be.'

The sergeant frowned. 'Why?'

'The mans a murderer…'

'Apparently that does not bother Her Majesty,'

'Does it not bother you man?'

The sergant chuckled. 'Absolutely,' he said. 'But we do things the way she says around here, isn't that right lads?'

'Here, here,' one of the younger men said.

'Queen Victoria instructs that her blue eyed boy is not hurt in the slightest,'

'What if he fights you?' the blonde man asked.

'He undoubtedly will,' the sergeant said, his head beginning to hurt. 'But it makes no difference.'

'Good grief,' the man said. 'It will be a bloody massacre!'

'Then so be it,' he said. 'For Queen and Country… what our queen wants, she gets,'

Silence fell around them.

'Ready?'


	60. Night Frost

**A/N: Initially, I wasn't going to do this chapter. It took a lot of debating in my mind but I came to the conclusion that it was necessary. I hope you think so too.**

**I also hope that you all had a wonderful new year and that 2007 is hopefully treating you all well so far.**

**RR**

**Chapter 60- Night Frost**

A gust of wind blew through the open door before a click was heard and the hallway fell into a hot and uncomfortable silence. Christine stood motionless by the door to the dining room, looking down at her hands, not wanting to look up at the other woman in the huge entrance hall. Fiona was standing opposite her, her own silence speaking volumes. Had it really come to this?

'It's rather strange,' Fiona said quietly, causing Christine to look up at her.

Christine blinked. 'What is?'

'This whole situation,' Fiona answered, looking out towards the back door.

Christine nodded her head slowly but said nothing. She didn't think it wise and really, what could she say? Could _anything_ make this any better or any less painful?

'What I mean is...' Fiona continued without looking at her. 'You're my maid- or rather, you _were_ my maid- and all along you're of a far higher status that me.'

Christine took a breath in.

'That is, if the story is correct...' Fiona allowed her voice to trail off as she turned her head to fix her eyes on Christine. 'You're famous.'

Christine swallowed hard. 'Not deliberately so,' she murmured and felt Fiona's eyes on her once more.

'It didn't occur to me for one moment that Chrissie might be short for Christine,' Fiona continued as she began to pace the hallway. Christine watched her closely. Some people may have seen this as some sort of attempted intimidation but Christine thought that she was seeing it for what it was. Fiona stopped for a moment and stared at the floor in silence.

This was not for intimidation, Christine thought, this was a strong woman trying desperately to remain strong in the face of incredible anguish. Talking and working through the confusion so that she could grasp some control back and pull it all together.

Christine looked at her, as she began to walk again. She continued to speak; 'I see it all now,' she said half to herself and half to Christine.

Christine opened her mouth to speak but something in her mind told her not too.

Fiona let out a long sigh. 'He looks so much like you it's almost ridiculous really,' she paused, glanced at Christine, began to pace again. 'Did he seek you out?

Christine shook her head. 'No,'

'Did you seek him?' Fiona asked, stopping to look at her.

'No,'

'Then all of this is pure coincidence?' Fiona asked. Christine heard the scepticism in the other woman's voice but it wasn't harsh or malicious, it was just _there_.

'Yes,' Christine answered.

Fiona nodded and Christine stared at her, realising that above everything else Fiona had just let go of the man she loved and that it was hurting her. She also realised that Fiona was doing all she could to hold this pain in and to try to understand the situation, as if that was her way of getting around it.

Christine knew, though, that the truth would only make things worse.

'Did you love him?' Fiona asked abruptly.

Christine nodded simply, the only gesture she thought was suitable.

'Then why did you choose the Viscount?' Fiona said, eyes again on Christine's face. She smiled. 'Sorry... Vicomte.'

Christine shrugged.

'You must know why,' Fiona said and much to Christine's amazement, her voice was soft.

'It was safer,' Christine managed to say as her chest began to feel heavier.

'You would choose safety over love?' she asked.

'I was young,' Christine said and turned her back. This was not a conversation she wanted to get into.

Fiona followed her. 'Wait,' she said. 'I just want to know... can't you see that I only want to understand... that I am not trying to punish you or hurt you or any of that...'

Christine turned to face her and thought for a moment. 'Ask your questions but hurry... they will be here soon.'

'What happened?' Fiona asked.

Christine frowned. 'With what?'

'In the lair beneath the opera?' Fiona continued. 'What happened after Raoul left the fold and before they trashed the home of the infamous Phantom, only to find him missing?'

Christine said nothing.

'That was how it happened, wasn't it? But there is a piece missing,' Fiona said, taking a long breath. 'With you three... you, Erik and Raoul de Chagny.'

'Erik had... he had kidnapped me... or rather they thought that he had kidnapped me,' she said, feeling her emotions swirling in the pit of her stomach.

'He hadn't?'

'Not really,' Christine answered. 'I would have gone with him if he had asked.'

'But you feared him?'

'Sometimes, yes,' Christine said. 'Sometimes he was certainly a man to be feared.'

'And then..?'

'Raoul gave chase and somehow found the lair,'

'Somehow?'

'I'm not sure you've seen the extent of Erik's intelligence,' Christine said with a sigh. 'The road to the depths was a labyrinth of tunnels, streams and rivers... full with booby traps, mirrors and horrors,'

Fiona nodded. 'I see,'

'He was lucky to make it to us alive,'

'And then what?'

'Then he let Raoul in,' Christine said, remembering the moment as vividly as if were happening right in front of her now. She swallowed hard. 'Threw a lasso over his head and pulled it tight.'

Fiona remained silent.

'He was trapped, Erik was furious and I was stuck in the middle,' she continued, looking Fiona in the eye as she told her story... the story she had told to no one before and probably never would again. 'Erik told me that either I stayed with him or Raoul would die,'

'He would not have killed him in front of you, surely?'

Christine sniggered. 'Oh yes,' she said. 'Yes he would have.'

'Then how did you escape with Raoul?'

'I didn't,' Christine answered. 'He let us free.'

'Why?'

'He knew that I loved him... in the end I think he knew,' she said. 'But he also knew that if he forced me to stay my love would be only resentment towards him.'

'Why choose Raoul though?' Fiona asked again.

'I could not envision myself living in a dungeon, in the damp and cold and…'

'You broke his heart,'

'Yes,' Christine said simply.

'No remorse?' Fiona asked.

'Too much remorse,' she answered quickly. 'Only days into my marriage did things start to crack around me.'

Fiona nodded, a gesture for her to continue.

'I made it work because I loved Raoul and he never did anything to hurt me... or to hurt anyone else for that matter,' she said. 'He is a good, strong man but he was not Erik.'

Christine saw the sadness in Fiona's eyes and almost reached out to touch her in an attempt at comfort. She didn't though. Although they were both standing here, having this emotion fuelled conversation in the oddest circumstances, she knew that the gesture would not be appreciated and that there was certainly a chance that it would even be rejected all together.

Christine kept her hands to herself and waited quietly for Fiona to respond.

'There is no other man like Erik,' Fiona said, her voice taking on a low whisper. Christine watched for a moment, unsure if the statement was for her or not. Fiona looked up. 'Yet he is gone.'

Christine stood in silence.

'Why would you leave him?' Fiona asked. 'Why would you ever leave a man of such remarkable talent.'

'He was a colder man...'

Fiona huffed and a tear fell from her cheek. 'He is a cold man now.'

'I see that,' Christine said quickly, and was acutely aware that this could quickly be something neither of them wanted. 'Yet he is changed.'

'Did you leave because he scared you?'

Christine shook her head. 'No,' she said. 'You need to understand my youth.'

Fiona frowned. 'Youth is irrelevant if you love someone,'

Christine could not decide if Fiona's tears had turned to anger or if she really was only trying to understand.

'You leave him,' she said. 'And he leaves me.'

'He left us both here,' Christine said quietly.

'Did he?'

'Yes,' Christine said. 'I'm still standing here, aren't I?'

'You know where he will go though, don't you?' Fiona asked. The anger had dissipated and despite the forcefulness of the statement Fiona's eyes were soft and wet. The force was a plea for information and not an expression of Fiona's hatred.

'I'm sorry,'

'You're sorry in that you don't know?' She asked. 'Or that you simply won't tell me?'

'I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused,' Christine replied and she meant it. She was sorry for hurting Fiona who had been so kind to her, sorry for confusing Joshua and allowing him to be so frightened and she was sorry that her appearance had given Raoul absolute confirmation about who Erik was.

Christine was, however, not sorry for loving Erik and not sorry for missing him and wanting to tell him how she felt. She was not sorry for what happened at the ball or the morning after and she was not sorry that she now intended to find him.

She realised that it was selfish to think the way she did. She knew that if it was not for her than this probably wouldn't be happening. Still, in spite of this, she could not wash the thoughts away. She loved him and regardless of how angry he was with her she would find him and try to make him understand. It was clear he had made his decisions about Fiona, though Christine did not doubt their love for a second, it was time for her to get her family back. Joshua _and_ Erik.

When she broke out of her thoughts she realised that Fiona was staring at her. 'I'm not sure that you alone caused this trouble.' she said quietly.

Christine opened her mouth to in some way protest and try to make an apology almost worthy of the situation. As her lips parted there was a loud knock at the oak front doors and the sound bounced off the walls around them.

Christine glanced at Fiona.

It was time.

* * *

Sergeant Michael Burton stood in silence at the door, hand almost aching from banging it so hard. The rest of his team, a small group of feisty and hardworking policemen, stood behind him waiting. 

'I can not believe you're knocking!'

Michael turned to look at the blonde man. 'We're knocking out of respect...'

The man cut him off. 'Respect?' He spat.' Respect! I cannot believe we are talking about that monster and respect in the same sentence.'

'I was about to say, for his family, sir,' Michael said, gritting his teeth tightly. He had been to bring the blonde man, know to him only as Raoul, along with them this evening. Apparently, his expertise in the case would be greatly beneficial.

So far Michael had found him anything but.

'You have powers of entry,' Raoul growled. 'So enter.'

Michael could feel his men's eyes up on him, waiting for him to make a decision.

'We will wait,' Michael said firmly.

Whatever this Raoul's interests were in the case it was obvious to him that the man was too close. Way too close. He was being overpowering and at times rude, but Michael took no real offence. He had known what grief could cause, he had seen it in the past. He assumed this man was displaying the same sort of symptoms.

He knocked again, a little firmer.

This time he heard footsteps on the other side getting gradually louder as they approached the door. A few seconds later their was a clunk of a bolt unlocking and a creak as the door finally parted from it's frame.

When it opened a tall, broad man stood there, and greeted them with a small smile.

'Good evening, gentleman,' He said, his accent perfect English. 'How may I help?'

Michael assumed this was the butler. 'I'm Sergeant Michael Burton. We're looking for Mister Erik Valesk,' he said, making his voice as authoritative as he could without sounding threatening.

'I'm afraid he isn't home, sir,' the butler said.

'May I inquire as to his whereabouts?' Michael asked.

'I'm afraid he doesn't confide that information in me, sir,'

Michael nodded.

'Perhaps Madame Valesk can help,' the butler said, stepping aside. 'Come through please.'

Michael stepped in and, as his men followed, the butler stood in front of them.

'Not all of you, surely?' The butler said. 'Madame Valesk has been rather ill lately, you can't _all_ come in.'

Raoul jumped in front of him. 'Why on earth not?'

'I believe I just explained that, sir,' the butler said, without flinching.

'These men are police officers! With a warrant,'

Michael sighed, struggling to keep his fraying temper. 'How many of us will you allow to enter?' he asked.

The butler looked at the faces around him. 'Only three,' he said. 'As I say, Monsieur Valesk is not here and Madame is very tired and doesn't need a fright.'

'They are police officers,' Raoul said again, as if repeating it would change the butlers mind.

'I see that,' the butler said simply. _'What_ are you?'

Michael felt a snigger nearly escape and he fought it back down quickly.

'A resource to the police in this matter,' Raoul said, more calmly than Michael had anticipated. The butler cocked his eyebrow but stood firm.

'Three of us?' Michael asked. 'Including me?'

The butler nodded.

Michael pointed to the two other men he wanted in with him, one was William Henshaw, an older officer he had worked with for years and trusted with his life and the other was a young, ambitious new starter who was strong and the sort of tough man you wanted on your side. Two of exactly what he might need. The others he signalled to wait on the perimeter for further instructions or... well, anything that looked suspicious.

'What about me?' Raoul asked, as the butler began to shut the door.

'What about you?' the butler said, shutting it in his face.


	61. Interrogation

**A/N: Thank you once again!**

**Chapter 61- Interrogation**

Michael stood quietly in the large, open reception area of the Valesk home. He turned and looked around him as they waited for the butler to return. The ceilings were high and curved at the edges bringing your attention to the modest, yet beautiful, chandelier hanging in the centre. The walls were wood panelled with what looked like oak. Expensive, he thought, resisting the urge to move and touch them.

Expensive yet tasteful.

It seemed a long time before Fiona Valesk walked into the room. He admitted, although he was sceptical, that Mrs Valesk looked pale and drawn. Michael watched as she walked towards him, noticed that, although she looked tired, she was truly a beautiful woman. He forced a smile away, she reminded him of his late wife, she too had green eyes like luscious, dew tipped grass.

'Mrs. Valesk,' he said as she approached. He held his hand out and she took it gently. 'My name is Michael Burton, I'm a Sergeant with Scotland Yard. I wonder if you could help me,'

She smiled. It seemed genuine but there was a sadness masked behind it. 'If I can help you, I most certainly will,' her voice was steady but sounded hoarse.

'I'm sure you're butler has informed you of the purpose of this last visit,' Michael said. He knew that he should sound more like a police officer, more in control, yet something about this woman, something about her sadness made him feel soft.

'You're looking for my husband,' she said and Michael nodded. 'I'm afraid he isn't here.'

'Your butler said that,' Michael responded quickly. 'Do you know where he is?'

'My butlers name is James,' she said and glanced at him. 'And no, I'm sorry, I have no idea where my husband is.'

Michael glanced either side of him at the two officers he had brought in. Under any other circumstances, he thought, there would be seven of us and we would have stormed the house hunting and searching. On this occasion storming and hunting was out of the question.

Searching was, however, expected.

'Do you have any idea what time Mr. Valesk will be returning?' Michael asked, watching her carefully. 'Only... it seems rather a strange time for someone to go out,'

Fiona Valesk looked at him and he thought he saw glimmer of tear in her eye. 'He won't be coming back, Sergeant...' she said quietly.

He looked at her blankly, although he had known deep down that this was coming. 'And you have no idea where he has gone?' he asked.

'A man leaving his wife often doesn't tell her where he is going, Sergeant,' she said.

'He has left you?' Michael asked, mind ticking over. The way she looked, her dark eyes her pale tired face, it certainly looked a plausible explanation. 'Just... left?'

She nodded, a tear dripped from her face. 'Yes,' she croaked, held her throat as if she could barely believe that it was her voice.

'And his son?' Michael asked. It was common knowledge that Erik Valesk's child was not Fiona's, they had never made any secrets of it, commenting that Erik's previous wife had passed away.

'Has gone with him,' she said simply. 'Why would he leave him here with me?'

It was fair question.

'Is that all you need?' she asked and Michael felt deeply sorry for her. He wondered for a moment if she had any idea what was going on, then he simply consoled himself with the thought that she would not have married him if she knew. Who would?

'I'm afraid, though I'd very much like to take your word for it,' he began. 'We need to search your house.'

She stared at him but said nothing.

'Will that pose any problems?' he asked, watching her face for anxiety or fear. He saw none.

'No,' she said. 'But can you do it as quickly and as quietly as possible?'

Michael nodded and motioned with his hand for his two colleagues to come closer.

'One other thing Sergeant,' she said quickly.

He turned to look at her. 'Michael,' he said, with a cough.

'Michael,' she said. 'Would you try not to leave too much mess, it's very unfair on the staff?'

'Of course,' he said softly and wondered where that voice had come from.

* * *

Raoul paced back and forth rapidly across the porch of the Phantom's house. He felt as the bile bubbled inside him, his impatience at an almost unbearable level. Where was Sergeant Burton and why had they not had word yet? Raoul knew only too well how the phantom had been all those years ago and doubted very much if he had changed at all over the course of time.

This concerned him deeply. It concerned him for everyone's safety, including his own.

Raoul looked around him at the other faces waiting in the dark. There were four police offices and himself, freezing cold and desperate to find out what was happening and if they had located the phantom.

Sergeant Burton had been gone for over forty minutes and the longer he was gone, the longer Raoul was forced to wait, the worse his nerves got.

He simply could not stand still.

'Are you just going to sit there?' Raoul asked, turning to stare at the four men.

He watched as they all glanced at each other before the tallest member of the group answered. 'Those were our orders, sir,'

'Aren't you worried at all?' Raoul asked, eyes fixed on the tall man.

'It doesn't pay us to worry, sir,' he replied. Blowing air onto his hands he looked up at Raoul and smiled. 'The sarge can handle himself.'

Raoul let out a wry laugh. 'Yes, I'm sure he can,' he said. 'But he has never met this man before.'

'Are you sure you're right about this gent?' the red head at the back piped up.

'Positive,' Raoul said quickly. 'I'm going to have another walk around the perimeter,'

'Sir,' the tall one called. 'There's nothing there we've looked every five minutes,'

'Well, I'm going to look again,' Raoul said defiantly.

The tall man shrugged. 'Suit yourself.'

* * *

Michael sighed loudly and stepped out of the last room he had to search. There were no hollow walls that he could find, no escape hatches pr hideaways. There wasn't a locked door to be found and there was no Erik Valesk. He wandered back onto the landing, making sure to look around him as he did. You never know what you might miss, his mentor had always said to him, never take your eye off the scene.

And so he didn't.

He walked, looking around him, always looking around him. On this occasion he saw nothing.

When he got to the top of the stairs Henshaw met him coming from the other side. Michael looked at him, eyebrows arched, hoping but Henshaw shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

'Sorry, boss,' he said. Michael greeted him with a firm pat on the shoulder.

'It's been a long night,' Michael said. Henshaw puffed out his cheeks with air and let it whistle out between parted lips.

'Anything?!' They heard and looked down at the younger man, Harry Burclough, at the bottom of the stairs.

Henshaw shook his head at the same time as Michael. 'You?' Michael asked hopefully.

The young man shook his head.

'Then I suppose he really isn't here,' Michael said as he and Henshaw descended the stairs to meet with Harry.

'Now what?' Harry asked, looking from Henshaw to Michael.

Michael thought for a moment. 'Where is Mrs. Valesk?' he asked.

'She's in the living room,' Harry said. 'It's the one behind me.'

Henshaw frowned. 'So, he left her then,' he said, looking at Michael.

'You believe that?' Harry asked.

'Well, it's certainly starting to look that way isn't it?' Michael said with a quick shrug.

'His clothes were in his room,' Henshaw said, as if this mattered. Under most other circumstances this would be the defining evidence that the wife was most probably lying but knowing what Michael knew about Erik Valesk, this was no evidence at all.

It simply meant he had left in a rush. From the briefing he had had before they left the station, he knew that Erik Valesk, otherwise known as the Phantom of the Opera, was a most resourceful person who could go days without food or sleep. Apparently, the only thing he refused to live without was his masks.

In his search Michael had found none.

'Did you find any masks?' he asked the others, looking from one to the other.

They both shook their heads.

'And his son isn't here?'

'Not that I've noticed,'

Henshaw shrugged. 'There's a missing space in his wardrobe,' he said. 'About the right size for a small bag I suppose.'

'I'd say he left his wife then,' Michael said with a sigh. 'Wouldn't you?'

Harry nodded solemnly.

'Shall we see what information she can give us then?' Michael said, feeling weary and tired as he began to trudge towards the living room. He had a horrible feeling that this too would be a dead end.

The two other men simply followed him in silence. He contemplated barging in to see if he could catch anything going on. However, his instincts told him that he would not find anything, and so he courteously knocked and entered when he was asked to.

Fiona Valesk was sitting staring out of the front window. Her eyes were now ever redder than they had been earlier, the dark circles under them beginning to shadow her entire face. Michael could not help but feel sympathy well inside him... he knew the feeling of losing someone you loved

She looked up at him. 'Are you satisfied?' she asked, a tone of bitterness creeping into her voice. He could understand that.

'Very nearly, ma'am,' he said. 'I just need to ask you a few more questions and then we'll leave you to get some sleep.'

'I'm not sure sleep is on my agenda, Sergeant, but thank you all the same,' she said. 'Ask your questions.'

'When did your husband leave?' he asked.

She shrugged. 'I couldn't say for sure,'

'Can you give me a rough estimate?' he asked.

'Today,' she said.

'Nothing more...'

'I'm sorry no,' she said. 'I'm not in the habit of clock watching,'

Oddly, Michael believed her but could not shake the feeling that Fiona Valesk was being deliberately evasive.

'And he gave you no indication of where he was going?'

She shook her head.

'Did you see which direction he left in?' Henshaw asked.

'I don't recall following him outside,' she said quietly. 'You'll have to forgive me, it's all a bit of a blur.'

Henshaw backed away and walked over to the large window to stand with Harry, who was staring silently out into the early morning dark.

Michael turned his attention back to Fiona who was looking up at him earnestly. She would be a difficult woman to disbelieve, he thought, looking into her soft eyes.

'Is there anything else?' she asked.

'Do you remember if it was light or dark when he left?' Michael asked.

'No,'

Michael watched her closely. Was she lying?

'You're sure?' He asked.

'It was light when he told me, dark when he left,' she said, with a nod, as if convincing herself.

'But you were both seen at the show yesterday evening,'

Fiona nodded. 'We weren't speaking at this point,' she said.

'Did you not try to reason with him?'

'Sometimes he is a most unreasonable man,'

'Can anyone verify that he did not come back here after he left?'

'The maid,' Fiona said. 'And James, the butler, otherwise, no one.'

'Right,' Michael said. 'Let me get this all the right way in my head.'

She nodded.

'He told you he was leaving earlier today, took his son,' Michael said. 'Went to the show, that you still attended, then never came back here?'

That's right,'

'Why did you go to the show?'

She shrugged, a tear trickled a path along her cheek. 'I thought I might see him,'

'And did you?'

'Yes,'

'But you didn't speak to him?'

'No,'

'Why not?'

'He walked away,'

Michael gave her a sad smile. 'You were seen with someone at the opera, who was that?'

'James,'

'The butler?'

'Yes,'

'Isn't that a little strange?' Michael asked. 'Going to your husbands show with your butler when your husband has just informed you he is leaving?'

'I couldn't go alone,'

'Did you have no friends to go with?'

'Not really,' she said. 'I've known James for longer than I have known anyone else here, I felt safe with him, I trust him... why is that strange,'

'It's more strange that you still went to the show,'

Fiona Valesk let out a sigh. 'I told you, Sergeant,' she said. 'I was hoping to see him.'

'Did you enjoy the show?'

'In a way, yes,'

'What way is that Mrs Valesk?'

'In the way that for most of the show I was trying to spot Erik,' she said. 'But the show is brilliant, like his mind,'

'Do you think we'll find him?'

'Why do you need to find him so badly?' she asked. 'You haven't explained that to me yet.'

Michael thought for a moment. 'He is wanted for some crimes in France,'

'What crimes?' she demanded.

'I'm afraid...'

She interrupted. 'You're sitting here, ransacking my home and asking me questions yet you won't give me a real idea of why,'

'Murder,' Michael said quickly. 'He's wanted for murder,'

She stared at him. 'And who did he allegedly murder?'

'From what I can gather the list is quite extensive but for the purposes of this arrest, a man called Ubaldo Piangi and another, Joseph Buquet,'

She said nothing.

'May we speak to the staff?' he asked.

But just as Fiona Valesk opened her mouth to answer the question there was a clatter and the sound of commotion from behind him. When he turned around he could barely believe what he was seeing.


	62. All I Need

**A/N: Some of you will not like this chapter one bit. Just bear in mind that my intention**_ isn't_** to make him a hateful character- it** **is much the opposite. Sympathise if nothing else.**

**Thank you as always for the wonderful reviews and to those who just enjoy to read.**

Read, review, enjoy!

_'Come please, I'm calling,  
Come please, I'm falling, _

Show me what it's like,  
To be the last one standing,  
Teach me wrong from right,  
And I'll show you what I can be,

Say it for me, Say it to me,  
And I'll leave this life behind me,  
Say it if it's worth saving me,' - Nickelback, 'Savin' Me'

**Chapter 62- All I Need**

Fiona's eyes shot to the left, towards the open door where a tall man with long blonde hair stood holding Chrissie tightly by the arm. In his other hand he held a pistol. She felt a gasp crawl into her throat but held it in and instead glanced sideways at Sergeant Michael Burton, who was almost as dumbstruck as she was.

It was not long before Michael confirmed what she already suspected.

'Raoul,' the sergeant said, stepping into the centre of the room. 'What on earth are you doing?'

'I'm getting some answers,' he said, hysteric desperation clinging to his tone.

'From this poor young lady?' Michael asked.

Fiona's eyes flicked from Michael to Chrissie, whose eyes were red and tired as she stood completely still in her own husband's grasp. She did not look frightened but she did look exhausted and despite herself Fiona felt sympathy for her.

'Who else?' Raoul asked, eyes darting back and forth across the room. Fiona became acutely aware of the two other police officers moving closer to Michael, as if to gather information from him. They were not going to get any though, she thought, as she saw the intensity in the sergeant's dark eyes.

'Well,' Michael said calmly. 'You could have let us get the information.'

Raoul stared at him, a look of utter disgust on his face. 'You?' he asked, eyes blazing. 'What have _you_ done so far?'

Fiona watched as Michael began to answer but Raoul threw his arm up in the air, holding the gun tight but waving it around.

'You've done nothing,' he growled. 'Where is he... hmm?'

'You interrupted us whilst we were trying to find out,'

'You are asking the _wrong_ _person_!' Raoul shouted, eyes suddenly glaring at Fiona. She stared back, defiantly. She had been through enough and now she was done.

'Then who should I ask?' Michael said, softly, as if trying to pacify Raoul.

'Her,' Raoul said, dragging Chrissie from his side and pushing her into the room. 'She knows.'

Michael looked at her. 'Do you?' he asked.

Chrissie shook her head.

'Don't you lie, Christine,' Raoul spat. 'Don't lie.'

She whirled around and stared at him. 'I am not lying,' she said, her voice almost cracking under the strain. 'I don't know where he is, why would I?'

'You're his lover aren't you?' Raoul said, his voice dripping with pure venom. Jealousy, Fiona thought, but still eagerly awaited the younger woman's answer.

'I am not,' Chrissie said.

_'Ha_,'

'I'm not, Raoul,' she said quietly. 'Why are you doing this?'

'He ruined me and now I want to find him,' Raoul said. 'He needs to pay for his crimes!'

Michael interrupted. 'Then let us find him and bring him to justice,' he said.

'I want to see him,' Raoul said. 'I have the right to look him in the eye and make him admit he knows who I am.'

'This is only holding us up,' Michael said. 'Be reasonable and put the gun down.'

'I won't,' Raoul shouted. 'I want him here.'

Fiona looked up. 'He isn't here,' she said causing Raoul to turn waving the pistol towards her.

'No?' Raoul's eyes glowed. 'Then where is he?'

'I don't know,' she said, feeling her heart pound against her chest. 'None of us do, he is just gone.'

Raoul looked around him. 'Do you think that I am an idiot?' he said.

'No,' Fiona answered.

'He wouldn't tell you where he was going, why would he do that?' Raoul demanded. 'He would only tell Christine... only her.'

'He hasn't told me,' Chrissie said quietly.

'He hasn't told you?' Raoul asked, eyebrows raised. He grabbed her and pulled her close, so that she was looking into his eyes. It was as if he was studying her. Trying to tell if she was being honest with him. Like he could tell from the colour of her eyes.

He kept one hand firmly around the top of Chrissie's arm, the other clutched the pistol like it was his lifeline.

He turned to look a Michael. 'Then there is your answer!' He said, a wry smile spreading across his face.

Michael frowned, confused. 'What?'

'He is still here!' Raoul said, suddenly sounding elated.

'We've searched,' Michael said simply but this just caused Raoul to laugh.

'You know nothing about this man Sergeant, nothing at all,' he said. 'He is the most manipulative and fiercely intelligent man you will meet... the master of everything... and you are convinced he is not here simply because you cannot see him.'

Fiona glanced at Raoul. 'I would have seen him,'

'How do you know?' he said, turning back to look at her, fingers wound tightly around the gun.

'I...'

'You don't,'

The room fell silent for a moment as if each person was weighing their options carefully. Fiona did not feel frightened by the sight of the gun or the fact that Raoul de Chagny was clearly out of his mind this evening. She could understand his pain, she barely felt as though she could hold herself together and found watching Raoul fall apart heartbreaking. She could see that he wasn't insane or even cruel or bad, just that he was hurt, felt wronged and that he wanted a resolution.

This was not the way to do it though, she thought, silently pleading with him to drop the weapon.

'If he hasn't told you where he is, Christine,' he said, letting his eyes settle on her. 'Then he must still be here,'

'That is backward logic,' she said to him with a sigh.

'Why is it backwards?' he asked with a smile.

'It just... it doesn't make sense,' she said softly.

'It makes perfect sense,'

She frowned. 'How?'

'It's simple,' he said. 'He would never leave you behind would he? _Never_, not now he's got you back.'

She blinked but said nothing.

'If you are here then so is he,' Raoul said.

'Raoul...'

His grip tightened on her arm. 'It's true,' he said. 'You're together again and he would never leave you here,'

'Raoul, we're not,' she said. 'Not together and I don't know where he is... I have no idea.'

Raoul smiled again. 'He is here,'

'What's wrong with you?' Chrissie demanded. Raoul looked at her as the police officers quietly looked on.

'I've had enough,' Raoul shouted.' Do you hear me Phantom... I... have ... had... _enough_!'

'Raoul...' Chrissie pleaded.

'No!'

'Please...'

'Come out... now,'

'He isn't here,'

'Now!'

They stood silently for a moment, no one moved nor spoke, they simply waited to see if something would happen. When nothing did a flash of anger swept along Raoul's face and he pulled Christine into him, placing the gun at her temple.

'I can't take anymore,' he said, a tear rolled down his cheek as his face reddened. 'It hurts all the time and I find you… and you're with him. And it hurts more than I could have ever imagined.'

'Sir, let her go,' Michael said, a sense of urgency surrounding him.

Raoul glared at him. 'It's too late for that,'

'Why take this out on her?'

'I'm not... this is the only way,'

'The only way to what?' Michael asked.

Raoul rolled his eyes. 'To get him to come out, to get him to show himself!'

Raoul looked up and around him, searching the walls and the ceiling, looking for Erik, desperately searching for him. He pulled Chrissie tighter to him, pressed the muzzle the gun harder against her temple. Fiona could see the skin whiten from the pressure.

Chrissie yelped out in pain and for a moment Raoul's eyes softened and he looked sorry. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but closed it quickly changing his mind.

'Come ... out,' he said. 'I'm running out of patience.'

'What are you going to do?' Michael asked.

'Whatever I have to do to get him to speak to me,'

Chrissie closed her eyes. 'He isn't here,'

'He owes me this,'

'He doesn't owe you anything,'

'He ruined me,' Raoul choked. 'Look what he's done to me,'

'It wasn't him that did this,' she said quickly. 'The revolution did this Raoul...'

'He took you away,'

'No,' she said. 'I ran with Joshua as far as I could get,'

'He calls him father,'

Chrissie lifted a hand to wipe a tear from her eye. 'He saved him... I hadn't seen Joshua for seven years Raoul, he doesn't know who I am either,'

Raoul squeezed her tighter causing her to choke. 'He...'

'He did nothing at all,' the words came out in a garbled tangle and had little effect on Raoul.

'Come on...' Michael said, reaching his hand out and stepping towards Raoul.  
'Give me the pistol...'

But Raoul leapt backwards dragging Chrissie along with him. Fiona felt her heart jump into her throat as the young woman winced through the pain but did not cry out. She could not help but think that Raoul did not mean to hurt her, that his love for her had had seven years to overflow and manifest itself in hatred towards Erik. There was no logical reason for him to hurt Chrissie yet he did because his emotions had simply run away with him, making for a most volatile situation. Fiona wanted to attempt to plead with him again but something stopped her and instead she sat in silence, watching what unfolded, with her heart in her mouth.

* * *

_Oh Raoul…_

Christine tried to stay still and remain as calm as possible. Raoul was standing behind her with one arm hooked around her neck and the other by his side, gripping the grey pistol he had been shaking around. She thought that she should probably be angry with him, as she stood there helplessly controlled by his actions, but she felt nothing but sorrow.

This was not Raoul. This was not the Raoul she knew, loved or married. This man was different and frightened, he was wounded and now he couldn't' control himself anymore. As he grasped her, she felt his arm pull tighter around her throat she coughed but didn't protest.

He didn't mean this.

He did not know what he was doing, he was letting his hurt control him and that hurt had become directed partly at her, but mostly at Erik.

She felt the gun against her head again.

It was cold.

* * *

Michael's eyes felt sore and tired, suddenly he wanted to wash his hands of this whole situation. Raoul, the blonde man, was now standing, looking quite disturbed, with a small pistol pressed against the young maid's soft skin. This young maid, he claimed, was Christine, the Phantom's lover. He was also claiming that because she still happened to be in the house, then the Phantom, Erik Valesk, would be there too. 

Michael felt his stomach turn over, a wave of nausea filled his body.

He had never been in a situation like this before and he had no idea how to rectify it. He was tired, hot and all together fed up. Henshaw and Burclough stood to his right, between him and Fiona Valesk and no one could get close to Raoul.

Despite his deep scepticism he was curious as to what would make a man of Raoul's stature crumble into a wreck like this. He had stood there, gun in hand, accusing Erik Valesk of ruining his life yet the woman he said was Christine disagreed.

Did she disagree because it was untrue or because she was attempting to protect Erik Valesk?

'Raoul,' Michael said. The man turned to look at him. 'We can talk, if you give me the gun we can try to forget this happened,'

Raoul scowled. 'You take me for a fool,' he spat. 'I will drop nothing and go nowhere until that monster shows himself,'

'What if he isn't here?' Michael said, as softly as he could, trying to reason with him.

'He is!'

'But what if you're wrong?' Michael knew that this was a gamble but he had to do something.

Raoul laughed but did not answer the question, instead and turned around in a full circle, keeping the maid close to him, so that he could look around.

'We've searched the house,' Michael said. 'We found no sign of him,'

'And you think that means he is not here?'

Michael nodded.

'Then you're all idiots,'

Michael tried to make eye contact with the maid but he moved her away from him.

'You tell him,' Raoul said, staring at Michael.

'Who?'

'The Phantom, who else?'

'Tell him what?' Michael asked, becoming suddenly resigned to the fact that someone might die here tonight, under his watch.

'To come out,' Raoul replied. 'To show himself,'

'Why would he listen to me?' Michael asked.

Raoul seemed to think for a moment. 'You're right,' he finally said. 'He wouldn't listen to you... he doesn't listen to anyone...'

He fell silent for a moment.

'Except for you,' he said, squeezing the maid to his body. 'Tell him to come out.'

She blinked, looked at Michael and then closed her eyes.

'Tell him,'

'He's not here Raoul,' she said.

Raoul glared down at her. 'Tell him to come out,'

'Come out,' she murmured.

Raoul laughed. 'Mean it,' he said. 'Say his name,'

The maid was quiet for moment. Erik,' she said quietly. 'Come out...'

It was silent for what seemed like an age, as they waited for a response, any response. When nothing happened Raoul's face creased into a frustrated frown. Michael took the moment to glance at Fiona Valesk, who allowed her sternness to subside and in it's place was a sorrowful and tearful expression. He wondered if it bothered her that Raoul had chosen the maid to call Erik Valesk's name and not her.

Raoul's face took him back away from his thoughts.

'I've had enough,' he cried. 'I can't take anymore,'

The maid tried to pull away but he tugged her back hard, resting the gun against her temple once more.

'Do you hear me Phantom?' he shouted, spinning around. 'No more.'

The maid pulled again and Michael stepped forward to grab her but Raoul quickly dragged her further away from his out stretched arms. For the first time the maid looked frightened, and Michael's heart sank.

'She doesn't love me,' he said. 'She doesn't want me... but I just... I can't lose her to you,'

The last sentence came out strangled by a harsh sob, it sent vibrations through the blonde man, so violent Michael thought he could almost feel them himself.

'We'll go together,' he said, tears flowing down his face and he kissed the maid's hair.

'Raoul...' she whispered.

'Shh,' he murmured. 'It's fine.'

'Please...'

Raoul used his thumb to cock the gun with what seemed a deafening click. Michael stared, felt his stomach roll again, the knowledge that he could not even get close to the girl sent shivers along his spine. He looked down at his hands. He was shaking.

'Please...' the maid whispered again, tears welling in her eyes.

Raoul shook his head, one of his tears dripped into her dark hair.

'Erik!' She screamed. Michael closed his eyes. 'Oh God... Erik, if you're there, if you're anywhere...'

Fiona covered her face with her hands.

_'Please_!' the maid shouted, voice strained with the effect of her tears. 'If you're there... I need you now, come out... I need you now,'

The following silence was deafening.


	63. Torment

**A/N: Thank you, Thank you, Thank you…**

**Chapter 63- Torment**

Fiona realised that she was holding her breath, she had dropped her hands from her face and opened her mouth to scream... no sound came out. The terror she now felt coursed through her veins and all of the day was crumbling around her. She knew now that her house was about to become a bloodbath.

The clock chimed and echoed around the silent room but barely made a dent in the ringing Fiona felt in her ears. The ringing was the sound of Chrissie screaming for Erik, in fear and in pain, the sound was resonating like a bell and Fiona suddenly knew that the sound would never leave her.

Chrissie's eyes were tightly shut, squeezed as if the dark would make this all go away. Fiona had tried it and failed, now she sat perfectly still staring at a broken man losing everything he had left.

_His hope_.

Fiona felt no real fear for herself, but instead her heart thudded like hooves in horror for Chrissie. Somewhere inside her she thought that she shouldn't feel sympathy but it just wasn't the way she was.

When Raoul cocked the gun and kissed Chrissie's forehead she had gasped but been unable to say anything at all. Now she sat, while Raoul whispered his love for his wife yet pointed a gun at her head.

She felt sick.

She manage to avert her eyes for long enough to glance sideways at Michael Burton. She found it ironic that his name was that of an old friend and she wondered how two men with the same name could be so many worlds apart.

His face was as white as a sheet.

He was completely helpless, there was nothing he could do, and he obviously knew it. His pleading has achieved little but to make Raoul more determined and Fiona could only imagine how the poor man was feeling.

She wanted to say something, she knew there wasn't much time, but somehow her voice wouldn't let her.

It was gone.

* * *

Michael stood there.

He just _stood_ there.

Like a scarecrow.

The truth of the situation was simply. Sergeant Michael Burton, one of the most valued, trusted and accomplished members of the Scotland Yard police force, was rendered utterly powerless.

It was quite clear what Raoul was going to do, not only take the life of the woman he had told them was his wife, but also his own as they all watched on. He could only wonder at what the younger man had been through while his wife had been gone. What could push a man to these lengths?

Michael now, sickeningly almost, longed to meet the infamous Phantom of the Opera.

As he stood there Raoul lifted his eyes from the young maid and fixed them on Michael. Suddenly, his eyes looked soft and youthful, as if he was in another place.

'I'm sorry,' he said.

Michael stared for a moment. 'You haven't done anything yet,' he aged to say.

Raoul gave him a sad smile. 'I have,' he said quietly, squeezing the maid in what could almost be considered a hug. 'I have dragged you into this mess,'

'It doesn't have to be a mess,' Michael said. His throat was sore.

'It is a mess,' the younger man answered. 'It's too late... It's too late.'

'It's not,' Michael said but could not even convince himself.

'I know I could never make you understand,' he sniffed. 'That's why I don't explain... you could never know how this feels.'

'Why don't you let her go?' Michael asked.

Raoul simply shook his head. 'I can't,' he said. 'I've lived without her for too long, I can't let her go again.'

'Have you asked if she will go home with you?'

'No,' shaking his head. 'But I know she won't.'

'I will...' the maid coughed.

Raoul just glanced down sadly, pity covered his face as he shook his head again. 'You won't love me,'

She didn't answer.

'There is only one way now,'

Michael swallowed hard.

'Oh Erik,' the maid whimpered, sagging in Raoul's strong arms. 'Erik I'm sorry... I'm sorry... there is so much I should have told you...'

'Stop,' Raoul said, though there was no authority left in his tone.

'Erik...' she murmured, gripping her hands together in a sort of prayer. 'Look after Joshua... look after him well... Erik...'

Sobs racked her body.

'Enough,' Raoul said, repositioning the gun, he kissed her hair.

Michael wanted to leap forward but he knew deep down that he would simply never make it. It was then that a flash of white to his left caught his attention.

He spun around and there he was.

* * *

'Let her go,' 

Fiona stared up at her husband.

'Raoul,' He said, his voice deep and rich.

And calm. Oddly, so calm.

'I knew you were here,' Raoul said, bursting into fits of laughter. He dropped his gun arm to his side in an attempt to control it but it continued to shudder from him in bursts.

'You were right,' Erik said, with a sharp nod. 'I'm here,'

'You just couldn't do it, could you?' Raoul said, eyes burning into Erik. 'You couldn't leave her behind.'

Erik said nothing.

'Do you remember me now, ghost?' Raoul snarled.

Erik nodded.

'Do you see what you've done to me?' He said.

Fiona looked up but Erik didn't move, he remained still and silent. The whole room was now eerily silent but for shallow breaths.

'Explain yourself,'

'I have nothing to explain,' Erik said simply. Fiona watched and although he didn't make it obvious, she saw his blue eyes flick to Chrissie.

'You've been with my wife!'

Erik stared incredulously. 'She isn't your wife,'

'What?' Raoul spat. 'Don't try that, I married her... I married her, she's mine and you think you can take her.'

Erik shook his head. 'You took her,' he said calmly. 'But... she's no longer your wife.'

Fiona felt a lump grow in her throat as Raoul's face reddened with anger. She looked back to Erik, who had yet to move, who was still calm and perfectly composed.

'She ... is... my ... _wife_!'

'But how can she be?' Erik said, and Fiona saw the twinkle flash across his eyes.

'What?' Raoul asked.

'You're dead, aren't you?' Erik said, with a smile that Fiona had never seen before. It was wry, and cool, almost sadistic. 'Both you of you,'

Raoul shook his head.

'You're both legally and officially dead,' Erik smiled. 'How can you possibly be married if you don't exist.'

Raoul raised his pistol hand to hold his forehead.

'She is no more married to you than she is to me,'

'No...' Raoul said.

'The De Chagny's are gone,' Erik spat cruelly. 'They are no more... you are not one, she is not one and Joshua has never been one,'

Raoul glared at Erik. 'You're evil,'

Erik laughed.

'I'll take her away from you,' Raoul said, tears flowing down his cheeks. 'Permanently, no one will see us again, we'll be together...'

Erik stared in silence.

'You can't hurt her anymore,' Raoul growled. 'I was going to waste my bullets on you but I know now that evil never dies, it never leaves and you will never go away,'

Erik simply shrugged.

'A shrug?' Raoul snapped. 'That's all she gets,'

'I don't care,' Erik said.

'Then why show yourself?' Raoul asked. 'Why bring yourself back, why ask me to let her go?'

'I've come for my wife,' Erik said simply. Fiona, in spite of herself, was surprised to hear this and her mouth fell agape in shock. Struggling to close it, to not show her astonishment, she blinked and then stared at him.

Raoul also stared blankly as Erik held his hand out and Fiona took it gently. He pulled her carefully from her seat and directed her to the door behind him where she wandered out numbly. She turned around when she got to the door and saw that Erik had not taken his eyes from Raoul.

She stepped into the darkness to wait behind the safety of the thick wooden door.

* * *

Michael's heart was beaing so fast and so hard that he almost thought he could hear it over everything in the room. Glancing sideways at Erik Valesk he couldn't help but think that the man they called the Phantom was almost completely ordinary. Except for the bright, white mask clinging to the right side of his face he looked entirely normal. He had jet black hair, a smooth slightly stubbled jaw and powerful looking hands. Valesk was tall and broad and smartly presented and should a person only see him from the left Michael was sure that they would think nothing of it. 

However, on closer inspection the mask he wore covered the entire right side of his face up to his dark hairline. Somehow, however, this was not the thing that bothered Michael most. As he carefully tried to look closer, attempting not to draw attention to himself, he was astonished at the harshness of the man's eyes.

Michael did not think he had ever seen anything quite so cold.

'Then why tell me to let her go?' Michael blinked then returned his eyes back to Raoul.

'Because you're acting like a fool,' Erik Valesk said simply, letting his cold eyes settle on the maid.

Michael thought for a second. _The maid_. The maid who is Christine yet you keep thinking of her as the maid. He felt a shiver crawl down his back.

He was already seeing her as a victim, already looking at her as if she was dead and removing himself emotionally.

He looked back up. Raoul was paused, standing completely still yet the white of his knuckles said he was gripping Christine tighter. He looked as though he was thinking carefully about his next move.

'I don't believe you,' Raoul said simply, eyeing Valesk carefully.

'You don't have to,' Erik Valesk responded. He flashed the same calculated smile he had used earlier. 'My, my, you really do have a captive audience,'

It was then that Michael realised that the three officers were now the focus of Erik Valesk's chilly attention.

'Why don't you gentlemen get going?' Erik asked.

Michael stared at him wondering what he was up to. 'I think I should stay,'

Erik Valesk lifted his eyebrows but it was Raoul who spoke.

'I think you're right, Sergeant,' He said. 'But the other two can go.'

He felt movement at his elbow as Henshaw shuffled forward to begin his protest but Michael would not hear it. The last thing they needed was more casualties than necessary. Two mad men, a terrified woman and one Sergeant of police was about as much excitement as Michael could handle now. He lifted his hand to quiet Henshaw.

'Go,' he said. Harry obeyed, as he always did, straight away but Henshaw loyally hung back, reluctant to leave Michael alone with an emotionally volatile man holding a pistol. He shooed him away.

When the door clicked shut Erik spun around to look at Raoul again.

'Is he hurting you?' Michael asked, somehow forcing the words out. Christine looked at him, he saw her try to swallow.

She nodded.

'Can't you loosen your grip?' He said firmly, staring at Raoul.

He glanced down at Christine, kissed her hair. 'I'm sorry,' he whispered. 'I didn't mean to hurt you,'

Erik laughed. 'Yet you'll kill her?'

Raoul nodded. 'That won't hurt, it won't,'

'Not if you do it properly,' he shrugged.

Raoul made no response but to slightly lighten his grip around Christine. She looked shocked and terrified.

'Are you going to let her go now?' Erik asked stepping close to Raoul.

Raoul did not jump back but he stood his ground. 'No,'

'Then I'm wasting my time,' Valesk answered simply as he turned around.

Raoul shook his head, in disbelief and with Christine still close to him he held the gun out in front of him and pointed it with trembling hands at the Erik Valesk's broad back. It was in that brief moment, where Michael was trying to find his voice to scream at the man they called Phantom to duck, that Erik spun around and grabbed Raoul arm throwing him off balance. With the agility of a cat he threw the man to the floor but failed to disarm him. Michael watched on, unable to move, as Raoul somehow found his way back onto his feet. He pointed the pistol at Christine as Erik Valesk's dark shadow stepped in front of her.

When the gun exploded Michael barely knew which way to turn.


	64. Saviour

**A/N: Thank you all for the reviews- particularly to those people who I could not reply to individually. I hope that this chapter is okay. **

**RR**

'_To be, or not to be: that is the question:  
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer  
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,  
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,  
And by opposing end them?' – William Shakespeare (Hamlet)_

**Chapter 64- Saviour**.

Harry Burclough stared silently at Fiona Valesk. His mouth was dry, a little sticky, and his breath was caught in shallow bursts in his chest. Fear racked his body with vicious tremors but still he stood there, silently staring.

In the dark of the side room he could see Fiona's eyes widen with terror, no sound escaped her lips but her eyes told the whole story.

There had been a gun shot. One, solitary, ear piercing gun shot, followed by nothing but eerie silence. Harry swallowed and tried to blink but there was something about the expression on Fiona Valesk's face that told him not to.

Don't look away; don't take your eyes off her.

But he _wanted_ to. All he wanted to do was take his eyes away from her face, all he wanted to do was erase this evening from his entire life, all he wanted to do was turn around and walk out, never returning.

All he wanted to do...

All he wanted to do was look away.

* * *

It was the numbness that shocked her the most, as she stood in the darkness in silence, it wasn't horrific or blood curdling. It had made her feel suddenly lost, so lost she could barely breath. The younger officer, she thought his name was Harry, stood there quietly watching her. He was an attractive young man, she thought, he had light hair and what seemed an easy smile. 

Suddenly, a vibration came from her body. She tried to smile at it but she couldn't, it was the strangest feeling. Her body was shaking but really it just tickled her.

It was then that she realised what was happening. Somehow she was crying, she was on her knees sobbing, breaking her heart. Arms were around her but she did not know whose they were. They were strong, definitely a man's, but she did not recognise his smell. The scent was completely unfamiliar to her. She clung to the arm anyway, held it tight, let the tears flow. Suddenly, she was back in the room and she could feel the pain of her tears now. In agony she gripped the man's arm, lay her head on his shoulder.

No matter how she tried she could not stop the crying, the tears just kept coming and coming, flowing.

And the man that held her now was not her husband and this only made the crying worse.

It was four in the morning and Antoinette Giry was dragging Meg roughly along the gravelled path towards the front door of the Valesk house.

_Erik's house.  
_  
Nadir had banged on her door until he woke even the neighbours. Joshua was standing, clinging to his hand and crying quietly and Nadir looked lost. When he explained the situation Antoinette had needed to sit down.

_Her friend.  
_  
But she had known, hadn't she. How could she not have known what was happening?

It was then that Nadir had dropped the bombshell.

Erik never tried to run with them, he never even left the house. He had simply given Nadir his instructions for escape in safety with the child he loved so deeply, and stayed in the house.

What was he thinking?

Antoinette had let Nadir leave to follow his orders and she had quickly woken Meg. A sixth sense had told her that someone would need them; she just was not sure who that would be.

As they got closer to the house Antoinette could see policemen in their dark uniforms standing around the porch area. They were quiet, as if waiting for something, and Antoinette felt a quick flash of hope that she had made it in time.

The hope faded just as quickly as it had arrived.

The second she heard the gunshot ringing through the crisp winter air her blood had turned cold. She felt Meg grip her hand tighter, felt her nails dig into her flesh.

'Mother...' Meg gasped, it was almost silent. Somehow she found the courage to look at her daughter.

'I...'

She looked around and saw the police officers scrambling to their feet. They were quiet for a moment, unsure what to do. It was obvious to Antoinette that they had never been in a situation like this before. It must have been minutes before they started banging hard on the oak doors of Erik's magnificent home.

Two men hammered with their fists, shouting and calling. One went to a window, peered through it, tried to open it, but nothing happened. There was no give in the door and none in the window.

Before she was even aware of it herself she was running with Meg up the steps onto the porch. A tall officer with a moustache turned and held his hands out to stop them but Antoinette closed her eyes and ran straight through him, knocking him to the ground.

She glanced back over her shoulder long enough to see him staring up at her in bemusement and shock. A moment later they were running quickly along the side of the house, followed closely by two officers.

Antoinette could hear them shouting but had no idea what they were saying. Her focus was clear.

She must get inside; she needed to save Erik for Erik's weapon of choice was not a pistol.

She could only hope that the gunshot was not directed at him.

* * *

Darkness engulfed them as they found the back of the house. Meg's feet were aching but fear made her go on, clinging to her mother's hand as if she was a child again. 

Meg looked behind her and saw that the officers were gaining on them as they rounded the next corner. She could not help but wonder where they were going, were they just running aimlessly?

Suddenly, her mother gripped her hand tighter and pulled hard and then Meg and her mother, still pinned together, were surrounded by complete blackness. Meg held up her free hand in front of her face but could not see it.

A tremble began in her hands and ended in her knees.

She felt her mother squeeze her fingers.

'Where are we?' she whispered.

She heard her mother fumble around. 'Secret entrance,' she said quietly.

'To the house?'

'Yes,'

'What are you looking for?' Meg asked, feeling the cool of the room penetrate her skin.

'Lantern and...'

Meg waited.

'Ah ha!' her mother said and Meg felt her heart leap. Seconds later the room was dimly lit by the small lantern. 'Follow me,'

The room suddenly twisted into a small corridor, not wide enough for them to walk down together so Antoinette led, sliding carefully along the wall, followed by Meg. She saw a spider scuttle past her mother and head towards her, she felt safer with her eyes closed, following her mother blindly through the narrow passage.

Suddenly, they stopped.

'I think it's here,'

Meg blinked. 'What is?'

'The door,' her mother replied, pushing gently against the wall. She moved along a little, pushing all of the way until the wall moved and she caught her mother's small smile in the light of the lantern. 'This is where I go in, you wait here.'

'I can't...'

'You have to,' she said sharply. 'I have no idea if this opens from the other side and so you will need to wait here to let me back in.'

Meg swallowed hard. 'What if you don't come back?' she asked, and felt  
childlike.

Her mother kissed her hair. 'I will,'

And Meg was left with no option other than to trust her.

* * *

Michael felt his hands tingling with shock. His whole body was a mass of tremors and shakes rising up from his feet, through knees that didn't feel like they could hold him anymore, up through a stomach that didn't feel like his own and a head that was dazed and confused. 

There was blood everywhere, it seemed.

He had some on his shoes and on his trousers.

There was a dark slick now where the blood had pooled around the man that was talking and standing only moments ago. Now he just lay there bleeding quietly as Michael tried to find the courage to help him.

He tried to move his feet but they resisted him, choosing instead to remain firmly in one spot. His stomach turned and he managed to hold in a vicious wretch. He did not think he had ever felt this sick before. There was a strange odour to the blood in the room. It was not as if Michael had not seen injured or dead people before but he had never seen them shot and they had never smelt quite like this.

It was almost tangy, he thought, as his mind once again willed his body into some sort of action. He managed to take a step towards the blood shed but the mere movement made his stomach lurch and he fell backwards, trying to hold in the inevitable.

It was no use.

Somehow he managed to crawl to the basket in the corner of the room before he was sick. His stomach contracted and his throat burned as he turned around, sitting on the floor, to stare at the scene now left there.

No one else had moved. Christine was looking at the body; the others were  
looking at him.

It felt like hours before anyone spoke.

* * *

The pistol was resting in his hand, which was now limp from the shock of what he had just done. Christine was standing opposite him, staring down at the body close to her feet; she had not even acknowledged what had happened. 

He felt suddenly very sorry for Sergeant Michael Burton, as he heard his chokes. Glancing up at him, he resisted the urge to find the officer something to clean himself up with.

When he glanced down at his own body all he could see were spatters of scarlet blood clinging to his once white shirt. He wondered briefly if he would ever get over the guilt of shooting a man but one look at Christine's face as she glanced up at him told him that he would.

Somehow the Sergeant managed to scramble to his feet and stagger over to him where he reached out, handkerchief in hand, for the gun. He gave it up now without a fight.

He felt the pang in his chest, the ones he'd felt when he was a boy, telling him that what he had done was wrong, no matter how just he thought his cause was. The body hadn't moved... it seemed fair to reason that he had killed him as the blood made a slow trail closer and closer to his feet.

Letting his eyes lift from the body he glanced at Christine, whose tears streaked her face in silent mourning for this man, the man she had loved. There were no ragged sobs that one might expect in this situation, no yelps of anguish, no cries in pain... the simple silence spoke it's own sentences.

Everything that had happened in the house that day was summed up in this room. The heat from the fire became a suffocating blanket as he found the strength to look at his hands, the hands that had murdered someone that night.

It was not in cold blood, no violent frenzy of knives or gunfire.

The one shot had been enough to stop everything.

Everything except for his world spinning now.

Christine was staring at him, he could feel her, and so was the Sergeant. Just standing there staring. No one had broken the silence yet, he didn't think that anyone would dare to.

It had to be done though, he thought, someone will have to speak sooner or later.

He could hear banging; he thought it was from the front door although he could not quite be sure. He felt a heave in his chest and in that moment his hand seemed to hurt. The hand that had held the gun, the fingertips that had pulled the trigger.

It surprised him that it was Christine who was first to move further. He really had expected it to be the Sergeant.

She was looking at him again when she opened her mouth. There was something now unspoken between them, something more than he had ever felt before. She let him see a sad smile. Not the type of smile that comforts or soothes, or the kind that makes a person happy. It was a smile forced through tears of grief, a smile of acknowledgment.

He realised that Michael Burton had begun wrapping the body in the sheets from the back of the settee.

Christine stopped for a moment, stared with wide eyes at what was happening. In an instant she dropped to her knees, resting her hand on the Sergeants broad shoulder. He looked away for a moment so that she could privately reach out and touch hair and skin. It was Christine who tearfully lifted the white blanket over his face.

She stood, moving forward, leaving the body and Michael alone on the cool floor.

He did not really know what to do when she reached him, wrapped her arms around him and kissed the spot beneath his ear where he often cut himself shaving.

When she began to cry into his chest he managed to find the energy to hold her. It lasted mere moments as with a sharp intake of breath she pulled away and stepped backwards across the room. He stared at her, arms still bent slightly as if he were still holding her gently. She gave him the sad smile again, letting the tears flow freely down her face, as she moved away.

He noticed the Sergeant flinch, then, as if realising what was happening Michael Burton leapt to his feet but he knew he was too late.

In a moment James made the decision, he leapt forward and grabbed Michael's legs, pulling him to the ground. The Sergeant tried to fight but James was strong and managed to pin him down. James held tight as he nodded for the couple to leave. So, that was what happened. Erik Valesk and Christine Lovell made their escape quickly in separate directions leaving James to live with the guilt of shooting Raoul de Chagny.


	65. Signed OG

**A/N: Thank you all so much for the reviews in the last chapter. I always knew, really, where I wanted this story to go but I had not thought out the last few chapters very well. I decided that to follow the next chapter with more 'action' would be a mistake as the story could then go on forever and my ending would not have the same impact that I intended… and so I wrote this way. **

**You will get the answers to most of the questions you have asked over the final three chapters. This is the first of them. Chapter 66 is a continuation of this chapter and is already complete though needs a little editing (as I'm sure this one does). **

**Chapter 67 has not yet been started as I cannot adequately put down on paper the way I ant it to go- I am torn between two ideas for it. I will make a decision this week and hopefully the story will be finished, and you will all have answers, by the second week in march. **

**You have so far been so kind in that you have been reviewing. I have written responses to those of you with an account, to those of you without thank you kindly. **

**Long chapter- the next is longer, hence breaking it in two.**

**RR enjoy.**

**Chapter 65- Signed O.G**

James walked into the living room, hands curled around a cup of warm tea, the steam rose up and touched his nose. He closed his eyes briefly, let himself smell it and appreciate it's untainted purity. Fiona took her tea with no milk and nothing to sweeten it's particularly sharp taste. When he entered the room she was sitting with her back to him, reading what looked like an old book, it was one he had never seen before. As he got closer he realised that there was something inside the book but when he got close to her she shut the book and smiled up at him.

He returned the gesture with an easy smile of his own and handed her the mug. She took it from him gratefully and her fingers touched his in the briefest of whispers, his heart jumped but he remained still.

'Sit down,' she said softly, green eyes peering up at him over the lip of the cup. 'You're doing that thing again,'

He smiled again, taking the seat opposite her. 'What thing?' he asked, but he knew. This had become their slow dance, the way they did things now. They rarely ventured into any conversation that would take them back but James knew, better than anyone, that the night was still there. Between them.

'Loitering,' she said, with a smile but there was something behind it today. A sadness he had not witnessed in a while and though his mind told him he should not say anything his heart, his soul, would not let him keep his peace.

'What's wrong?' he asked softly, tilting his head to the side when he looked at her. She turned her face away, avoiding his gaze.

'Nothing,' she said quietly.

He waited a moment, half expecting her to change her mind, when she didn't he sighed. 'I'll go back to my quarters,' he said simply, beginning to stand.

'You don't have to do that,' she said with a catch in her voice. He stepped past the side of her chair and she reached out, her fingers folding into the material of his jacket. 'You know that,'

'Then what do I do?' he asked keeping his voice quiet and steady. 'I know something is wrong, Fiona, we have come too far for me to miss that look in your eyes,'

She stared for a moment. 'He... he's written to me,'

James blinked, barely able to move, this was not what he expected to hear. Feeling his mind whirl back the years he stopped and took the seat closest to Fiona. Carefully, gently, he reached out and took her hand in his, rubbing the back with his thumb.

It had been over two years since the incident where James had shot Raoul De Chagny. That cold night was engrained deeply in his ever working memory, a reminder of what he was actually capable of. That night, after Erik made his escape both he and Christine simply vanished. Despite this there was no real suspicion that they had fled together. Still, Erik Valesk had not taken his wife with him, he had simply run and disappeared into the cool night.

There had been the occasional alleged sighting of him or of her, both separately, but these rumours had come to nothing for the police and James felt oddly glad. Although, the rumours did come in, the police really did not actively pursue the investigation, much on the order of the Queen who was less than willing to entertain the requests of the French. She insisted, quite simply, that the man they had called the Phantom had fled her country and that England's part in the matter was quite over.

She had that way about her.

That night, James had been questioned by several police offices, both in uniform and detectives. None of this came to anything either, Sergeant Michael Burton had shown himself to be the most genuine and true of any other man James had met. He had told the detectives that by shooting Raoul, James had saved the lives of all of the people in the room. Not least of all his won.

The Sergeant omitted the fact that James had aided the fugitive in escaping and for this James would always feel an overwhelming sense of debt to the man. Of course, he thought, it helped James' case that by some miracle Raoul had survived. He had lost a lot of blood but the hospital had fought and cared, and saved him.

Burton gave Raoul a free pass too.

Around a year later James had happened up on Raoul in the street near the centre of London. He had a blonde lady to his side, pretty and slim, she was clinging to his arm with a broad smile on her lips. James felt a hard lump in his throat and tried to avoid Raoul's eyes but it had been too late. He dreaded this moment, the man he had shot stared at him and then in an instant ran towards him. James had had his hands full and had been unable to run but Raoul simply threw his arms around him and squeezed him.

James, astonished, had frowned and asked why Raoul was hugging the man who nearly killed him. Raoul had replied simple, 'I am hugging the man who saved my life,'

James and Fiona had grown close in their misery.

He looked at her now, eyes full of deep sorrow.

'May I read it?' James asked and Fiona nodded, tears cascading down her soft cheeks. He resisted the urge to wipe them away.

James took the paper carefully from Fiona's grip, she had folded it so he slowly undid her handy work, almost afraid that the letter would crumble and that he would be gone again. He glanced at Fiona again, wanting a prompt that he should continue. She nodded.

The paper was slightly yellow at the edges, as if it were old and had been it travel for a long time. However, on closer inspection, James could see that this defect was a deliberate act of concealment. He did not want anyone to know where he was.  
'_Fiona'_, he read and felt a lump grow in his throat. '_I realise that it has been some time since you have seen or heard from me, I can only apologise for whatever emotion this may have caused. Actually, sometime does not quite do the situation the justice it deserves. It has been nearly three years since I have seen you _

The handwriting was soft and elegant, the opposite of what the man was about, the opposite of his hard edges. Fiona was looking out of the window. James looked back at the paper resting in his hands.

This is not a deliberate act to make you feel awful, or to bring back any memories you may deem unpleasant. I simply want you to know the things I should have told you when we first met. I did not mean to be deceitful, it was not meant to hurt you, but it was only way for me to survive. My story is simple in it's whole telling, there are no parts of extreme complications. I shall start from the very beginning.

I was born a little over 41 years ago in a small town just outside of Paris, France. There has always been speculation, some of my birthplace, but this is the honest truth. No one can take my memories as they have once taken my dignity. When I was born the nurse refused to look me in the face, my mother was the same. Only my father, a great man, a soldier and police officer, had the courage and the love the take me in his arms and hold me as his child. For that is what I was, Fiona, as much as they told me otherwise.

I was simply a baby.

Do not pity me, though, there is more to my story than this.

I was deformed, the most unsightly, ghastly face you would ever have seen. This is then one and only reason for the masks, my first when I was only two years old. You never did see my face and be glad of that, I was depriving you of nothing, only saving you the horror. Circumstances, however, have made me realised that my face would have made no difference to your love for me. For your unstinting and unwavering dedication to me I can only thank you, but never can I change the way things are now.

_  
My father died when I was six years old, working. A man had taken a sword to him and run him through, my mother collapsed and therefore I was neglected completely. She coped for nearly two years but in the end the pain of losing her husband and having such an ugly, social reclusive child was too much for her_

_  
And so she sold me. I kid you not. She actually managed to get some money for the wretched boy who had clung to her so desperately after the death of his father. She sold me to a travelling carnival and from then on I became their property.'_

James swallowed, looked at Fiona.

'Are you finished?' she asked distantly. He shook his head returning his eyes to the page.

'_It must have been a further three years, maybe a little less, it's hazy at this point... yes, three years, before I returned to Paris. However, this time my return was to the centre of Paris as one of the main attractions. Quite why people paid to view my terrible face I will probably never know, although, having read a few books on the human mind I can take some guesses. I won't do this now though, not until I tell you about the next thing that  
happened to me, the one which ultimately changed me forever and made me the person I am today. Whether that be a good thing or a bad thing I cannot judge justifiably for myself, that is left to you and the people who have known me well. _

I was lying curled into a ball in the corner of my cell, people stood around (yes, I remember it quite vividly) laughing and pelting me, hurting me, prodding me. But then, when the crown evaporated there she was.

She was a pretty young thing, a few years older than me with her hair pulled back tightly. She walked with a slight limp, but I thought nothing of it, because the tears that streaked her gentle face told me everything about her that I needed to know. She walked to the bard, held them tightly (her knuckles were white) and she whispered (God Forbid I should ever forget):

'Poor boy,'

And that was enough. She called me boy not beast or monster or animal. I was a boy to her, a child like any other, and I knew it in that instance. The young girls name was Antoinette Smith, her father was English and her mother French. That very night she came in and helped me escape but as I did the guard came through. I knew at this point, cruel as it might sound to you, that if I did not kill this man than I would die and possibly even my new (and only) friend would too.

I took the rope I kept it my cell and hooked it around this man's neck, pulling it through one of the bars I tugged hard, threw my body weight against the rope and then I heard it... the snap of his neck.

He was dead.

He was the first man I ever killed but he was not the last as you well know and as I am ashamed to admit. I will not tell you that that rage does not still curse my blood but I control it. The anger I felt as a child often haunts me now and certainly did the years after I met Antoinette.

She was the one who took me to the Opera house, her mother worked there as a dancer, she helped me get in and took me to the cellar where she told me I would be safe. I didn't doubt her.

I must apologise at this point that this letter has gone on for so long and I must apologise more that it is not yet finished. The reason I write to at some length is that I believe that you deserve an explanation. I will tell you all... you simply need to read on.

Now, you must understand something about the cellars of the Opera Populair (as I am sure you have never seen them). They were a winding tunnel of bricks and dirt and along side of this ran a small canal. It took me a short while to find my way around but it was at this point that I learned my aptitude for remembering things. I was quite convinced that no one would ever remember there way around there if they happened to find me once. Still, as a precautionary measure I spent many hours constructing booby traps and stealing mirrors from around the opera. Now I was certain that no one would find me, no one would bother me again or ridicule me.

_There was, of course, another entrance to my home, from the outside, I needed an escape route. Antoinette knew of it, of course, but it was awkward enough to get to that she often simply waited for me to appear. She brought me books, blankets, clothes. As I grew, for a long while I thought I might be in love with her. She had a sturdy elegance, a face that was handsome rather than beautiful and with all of this I could happily spend hours in her company. _

When I was in my late teenage years I was happened upon in the street by a small man with dark skin. He stared at me, a gaze that pierced through me. Of course, I was wearing my mask and a hat pulled low and it was dusk, but still he stared. I felt an anger rise with in me again, so intense I almost killed him there and then.

I am more glad than ever now that I did not for this man was the Daroga, Nadir, my friend.

My father's friend.

He may not look it but Nadir is quite older than I (evidently, the sun in Persia suited him). When I was born he worked as an apprentice with my father in the army, he was sixteen. He was my father's friend for many years and as a policeman he suffered for never catching my father's murderer.

This is what he told me that night in the street.

He had recognised me, he had told me that he had seen pictures of me as a boy. My father carried pencil drawings of me!! How pleased I was to hear I can barely begin to express.

He befriended me, visited my home but all the time his quiet and intelligent demeanour was focused on one thing and one thing only. Finding my father's killer.

And one day he did.

He was the second man I killed. Same method as the first only slightly more refined by now. I had practiced whilst setting my booby traps. I must admit to the great pleasure it gave me to watch this man die at my hands. Not because I enjoyed it but because I knew that my father had so much life ahead of him, so much to give to the world and to me. I have never hated anyone the way I hated this man.

Nadir never did tell me his name.

At this time I was still hiding beneath the opera house keeping my identity concealed. Sometimes I would travel with Nadir but slowly I began to realise that in some ways he feared me. You might think that this would distress me but it was exactly the opposite. It actually comforted me.

By my early twenties I was making my presence known in the opera house, taking things that would definitely be missed, leaving things in places they did not belong. It was not long before the rumour of the opera ghost was spreading like a wild fire around the corridors. At first I was worried that this would mean them hunting me down and then I laughed. Hunt a ghost?? It was hilarious and I became very comfortable. I had slowly realised that with fewer visitors (Antoinette was married and had a child some time before this and Nadir was travelling more and more) I had no food.

Therefore I needed money. This was where bribing the Opera managers came into force. Much to my pleasure, Antoinette had fuelled (mildly) some of the rumours about me in an attempt to help my cause.

_It worked and soon I had money. _

It was shortly after this that I met Christine.'

James placed the letter on the table, and stood.

'I need a drink,'

Fiona nodded. 'It is a long letter,'

'It is,'

'I read it twice,'

'I'll be two seconds, would you like another?'

She shook her head and as he left he heard her say. 'Hurry back


	66. Yours Sincerely

**A/N: Thank you again for the great reviews. Hope this chapter is okay.**

**RR**

**Chapter 66- Yours Sincerely.**

James returned to the living quarters with a glass of cold water and some orange juice in case Fiona needed something cool. She had not touched her tea since she had taken her first sip and placed the cup on the table in front of her. Fiona glanced up at him, this time no smile graced her lips, waiting for him to continue to read.

Over the last few years James had found himself getting to know Fiona better and better. From the moment she saw Raoul lying on the floor, blood pooled around him, he had begun to recognise something in her that his status had forbidden him from previously.

Vulnerability and sadness.

He knew that the sight of Raoul, seemingly dead, had no effect on her for it's physical appearance but she had somehow felt what he was feeling in that room. When his anger had flushed him, when his pain and hurt came through his pores, she had felt it and therefore, she and Raoul were to be connected forever, if only in her emotions.

It was this glimpse of vulnerability that stopped James from leaving her service after the police had finished their investigation into the shooting. Deep down he knew that he, Fiona and Michael Burton were connected on some level greater than that which a person can see. They had all been there, they had all seen the blood and the pain. Although Fiona had not seen Raoul shot she had heard it, feared what could only be the worst, and collapsed. When she had fought her way from Harry Burclough's grip in the side room she had burst in only to find Michael on the floor, James kneeling close to him and Raoul lying in his own blood.

What had passed between them at that moment, James had little doubt, would be there forever.

So he had somehow found it with in himself to stay with her, to continue to control the staff and to be her butler. He had cleaned the room, removed the carpet and replaced it with another. It had been James to wipe the blood from the walls and coat it with fresh paint. He had done a good job, he thought, but sometimes he felt he could still smell the blood in the room. He never mentioned this of course, it was the last thing that Fiona needed.

Over the course of the first year something changed between he and Fiona. They became friends. It was hard for James to grasp at first, it was something he was most unaccustomed to. It was not as they she was distant to him before Erik Valesk left but there was more to them now. It wasn't instant, who would expect it to be? For the first months after he was gone Fiona simply withdrew and hid herself away. James coaxed, as did the other staff, but it had simply been no use.

No use until one hot night in July when James was checking the corridors for safety before he retired for the evening he heard Fiona crying. Sobbing, in fact. He turned his feet to walk away, as the butler this was none of his business, but something stopped him. Instead he walked towards her door, knocking quietly. She gave him no response and so he simply entered.

Under other circumstances this would have been an offence worthy of being fired but that night, things were different. He walked in quietly, she was still crying. He remembered quite distinctly the pain he felt at her tears. There was a low light from the moon entering through a gap in the curtains and his figure had thrown a shadow onto her as he knelt by the bed. Her face was buried deep in the pillow, her sobs moved her shoulders back and forth.

James had sat on the bed and reached out, pulled her up and into his arms. He had held her tight, shushing gently into her soft hair. At first she had not responded, he actually felt her tense at his touch, but then she surrender letting her head bury into his chest as she cried.

He stayed in her room all night feeling that he himself might give way to the sadness that had built inside him. Somehow he managed to contain it. He simply held her while she cried, while she slept.

She was not astonished when she woke and found herself wrapped in his arms. James had resisted the urge to jump out of this bed and apologise profusely, instead he had given her a squeeze.

Then it happened.

She smiled.

From that day on they were friends. It had built from this, gathered pace until they trusted each other. They never spoke of that night, they never had and James had always thought that they never would. He had a feeling now that that was about to change. He looked at Fiona.

'Are you going to finish reading?' she asked softly, holding the letter out for him to take it. He sat down next to her and lifted the page from her hands. 'Tell you when you have finished.' she looked away.

James focused his attention back onto the letter and found his place.

'_It was shortly after this that I met Christine.'_ He continued to read.

'_I was patrolling the corridors of my home closest the rooms at the back of the opera house, directly behind the stage. I was about to return back to my lake at the depths of labyrinth when I heard a humming sound coming from my left. The room there, a large room and the only with a bed, had been vacant for sometime and it surprised me to hear any sound coming from there at all, least of all something so soothing. _

I walked back there where I had glass looking into the room. She was looking through it, as if she could see me, she stared at it for a long time lips parted and then looked away. I knew she could not see me, of course, the glass was one way only, but I could see her perfectly. At first I was shocked by her youth. I thought she was only sixteen or seventeen. A few days later I found it was her birthday, she was nineteen on that day. I sent her a rose. The reddest rose I could find and I wrapped the stem in a black ribbon, left it through the handle of her door.

_I watched her as she came into her room, holding the rose in her fingertips wondering desperately who had sent her such a pretty gift. I touched the mirror, wanted to touch her face, to feel the softness of her skin. I often dreamt that it would feel like silk and taste like peaches. _

Fiona, I was awed by her, amazed by her pure and soft beauty. I know that this is not what you want to hear but I feel that you must understand. I had never met anyone so beautiful before. Antoinette was handsome, the dancers were pretty but Christine... Christine was astonishing.

_I watched her a lot of the time, through that mirror, but mostly I listened to her sing. This might, to you, sound a little perverse but try to imagine the man I was then. I was almost innocent in my view of women, I had met very few and very few with as much perfection in their face. _

I just could not take my eyes off her face. It was that, the deep eyes and the silk hair, it was that I loved at first. And then there was her voice. As impure as it was it had the most unique tone, something careful and naïve about it. It was a voice I wanted so much to nurture into something great, something magnificent, something that people would fall to their knees to hear.

And so I spoke.

Or rather I sang.

_I'm afraid to say that I rather startled her to the point she let out a scream. I didn't stop, however, I continued to sing. Slowly she calmed, stared at the mirror, tapped at it and the walls. She did not quite know where the sound was coming from but she listened. _

'Who are you?' she asked. 'You have a beautiful voice... who are you? Where are you?'

'I am here,' I replied, feeling a bead of sweat in my hairline. I was fuelled by my blood running rapidly through my body. The sound of her speaking to me almost made me faint.

'Who are you?' she asked again, my heart thudded. How wonderful it was to hear her speak to me. Then she said; 'Angel? Are you my Angel of Music?'

_And, to my shame, I said, 'Yes'_  
_  
And that is where it started and that is where it came from. I manipulated the things around us, engineered it so that she wanted me and only me. I made her the star of the show, let everyone see her. Unfortunately, everyone included the new Patron of the theatre, Vicomte Raoul de Chagny.'_

James let out a whoosh of warm air.

'Where are you up to?' Fiona asked, glancing at him briefly.

'Raoul,' James said simply. She nodded, turned away. He continued to read.

_'The night she took the lead for the first time it was in a production of Hannibal. What you should know about Christine is that she was orphaned at a young age and her circumstances made it difficult for her to find the limelight without a little help and persuasion on my part. She took the lead after I frightened, for want of a better term, Carlotta. It took this for them all to see Christine's amazing talent. Of course, when they did, they were all in awe. You saw her yourself, did you not? Raoul, too, was amazed by her and shortly after the show he made his way back to her dressing room and talked to her like they had never been apart. Apparently, they were once sweethearts._

_I cannot quite adequately express how much this hurt me. I had never felt pain like it before, seeing him sitting in her room make me sick, a deep sense of betrayal swept through me, it took over me. I had no idea what the feeling was, until Antoinette later pointed out that it was jealousy. _

That is what gets to me sometimes, when I think of all the things in my past. The fact that I could quite ably kill a man, I could design and construct, I could conduct, I could sing, I could write any music, speak various languages yet... somehow, Fiona, when it came to my emotions, I could not understand them.  
_  
I took her with me that night, down into the cellars below the Opera house. She had never been there before, I had always taught her from the sanctity behind my mirror. It was this night I chose to show myself to her, that night out of anger and hurt, instead of love, I chose to take her with me._

_She came willingly._

_It was that night that she first removed my mask and saw the horror, my shame, all mottled up behind it. Of course, I let my heart give into fury. I remember leaping up at her, watching as she sank to her knees in shock and fear, I shouted and I berated her but the terror in her eyes stopped me cold._

_I took her back. She did not look me in the eye._

_Soon after this, I killed Joseph Bouquet. Some say that I stalked him, I only wish I could accept that accolade of stealth, but it was far simpler than this. The man was an abusive drunk, only when he was attempting to fondle one of the young dancers was his guard up. The night I murdered him, I did it out of my disgust for him and nothing else, I can promise you that. It was not the vengeful act some said that it was and though it was probably wrong, I do not regret his death for one moment. He will not be missed in this world._

_This was the night I saw Christine leading Raoul to the roof top, this was the night I hid away behind a statue listening to them, this was the night I knew what heart break really was. He declared his love for her and to my devastation she reciprocated with quiet caution. If she had known I was there she did not show it but she still quieted her voice, as though to hide it from me, just in case. I will never forget this moment for it was the moment I had my first glimpse of the pain I would experience time and time again._

_I had been rejected before, I had been rejected by many people but never before had it hurt me so deeply. The pain was excruciating and unrelenting, it was as if someone was crushing my chest... just... crushing it. Tears were in my eyes, I felt that I could barely stand, my knees were suddenly weak. It was as though my heart had stopped trying to hold me up, it had given in and so had I. I sent the chandelier down to the stage- I killed a woman, though not intentional I was too distressed to care, then I disappeared._

_I travelled a little, with Nadir, but my heart was not in it. Nothing was in it. I just went along, felt I needed to escape, I wanted to get away from the opera, away from the signs of my hurt and away from Christine._

_When I arrived back some months later I began to write. I simply sat down at my organ, playing the music in my soul, the notes that tumbled out and the words I thought. It was not pretty, it was not sweet or beautiful and as it turned out, there was no happy ending. It was my masterpiece. It was Don Juan._

_It had been just over six months and I decided that it was time that the peacefulness on the Opera Populair stopped. I returned on the night of their masquerade ball dressed in red velvet with a skeleton skull._

_Before I even spoke, as I walked down the stairs, she knew who I was. I saw in her eyes that she knew. My words only confirmed this. At this time in my life I was filled with rage, with anger at the world, with anger at Christine. She looked at me with her soft eyes and I felt nothing but fury at her. _

I knew, though, that she belonged to me.

_They performed my opera, under some duress, and on the night of the performance I made my next killing. I have never admitted this before, because it would highlight a fault on my part, but I never intended to kill Ubaldo Piangi. I tied the rope around his neck and hands but left it fairly loose. He must have tried to struggle free and then my fail safe came in, the more he struggled the tighter it got until it cut the air from his throat completely._  
_  
The beams holding him up failed with impeccable timing. It was as Christine tore my mask off in front of the crowd and I dropped through the stage, clutching her in my arms, that Piangi fell forward from the back beams right behind the stage._

_I only caught a glimpse of course, my anger at Christine was now manifested firmly in taking her down to my home and hiding her there until she heard what I had to say. For the first time I was ready to tell her exactly how I felt, exactly how I loved her and exactly how angry I was with her for the betrayal she had put up on me. _

We argued, she as fiercely as I, when we arrived at the lake. I was hard on her and she was equally as furious at me. The stalemate suddenly dropped into silence as we stared at each other in the quiet of the room. Then she came forward, grabbed me and pulled me to her.

_We made love in the lake. It was really that simple and in that essence, so complicated._  
_  
When it was over she looked ashamed and I felt confused_.

_She turned away, ran towards the bars and I called her back. I started to follow but I heard a splash and knew we had been found._

_I let Raoul in, caught him in my trap with the noose tight around his neck. Threatened them... I threatened them with his death, I gave her an ultimatum. I shouted, I felt pulses of anger, I showed them my defiance at their love._

_In the end the stand off was shortened by the sound of voice getting closer, tracking me down to the only place I had ever felt safe. It was over for me but at that moment I felt I could never live without Christine._  
_  
She was staring at me, sadness in her eyes. Raoul cried at her to leave, to let him die but she was ignoring him. She was only looking at me. Slowly, purposefully she moved towards me. I did not know what to do or to say. For once words escaped me. _

_Then she kissed me._

_It was not like the love making, it was not as desperate, it was calm and sweet. It was at that moment I realised that she loved me. She was saving me from myself and so I let them go. I let them go together. I will not tell you that I was happy about this, I won't try to convince you that I was not angry, that the feelings of betrayal had vanished but I had to let them go. Her kiss freed me in a way that no one had ever tried before and so I freed her._  
_  
I ran from the mob, ended up in Egypt working as a designer and architect. I enjoyed Egypt because people were used to other people wanting their own space, their solitude. It was perfect for me._

_Of course, Nadir followed. We worked together often but saw each other rarely. I had not been there long when Christine arrived, baby in arms, frightened and upset. She gave ms Joshua then, though I did not want him, and she left me. I tried to call her back, I tried- in spite of my anger- to make her stay. She would not._  
_  
I met you on the boat from Spain to England and the rest you know. I can not describe to you how difficult it is for me to put all of this down on paper for you. I can not do justice to the pain I feel now and the pain I have felt in my life._

_I am not writing to you so that you feel any sympathy for me, or that you pity me or forgive me. If I am honest, these are the last things I want. No amount of pity will save me from my own guilt and I feel that that is what I deserve. I can not honestly say that I am unhappy, I feel more free now that I have ever felt. Joshua is well, he is intelligent and getting taller (it would appear) by he second._

_I feel no guilt or remorse for the people I killed, even the ones I killed in error, but I feel guilt for you. You were never anything but good to me, kind to me, loyal to me... and for this my debt to you will always be there and I know that now I will never be able to repay it._

_Don't for one second think that I did not love you, I did. I still do. You were my earth and sky, the reason I woke up some mornings. I did not know that until recently. Fiona, though I loved you I could never love you more that Christine. If this still hurts you then I apologise. Again and again I am sorry. I am sorry for the hurt, the pain and the deceit. I am sorry for all of this, I am sorry for what you witnessed and what you were dragged into. _

I am sorry yet I do not ask your forgiveness.

All I ask is that you understand.

Yours,

Erik.'

James shook his head and without saying a word, for he didn't think words could quite express this, he reached out for her. Pulling her into his arms he held her tight, she cried gently into his chest.

'I'm sorry,' James said gently, feeling her body move.

She shook her head and pulled away. 'I'm fine,' she wiped her eyes and smiled.

'Are you sure?'

She nodded. 'I think I needed to know,' pausing she took in a long breath. 'I needed it so that I can move on now. I'm glad he wrote, it's as if by telling me all that he's made it alright for me to get on with my life,'

'And you feel that now?' James asked. 'That you can move on?'

'I won't forget him,' she said, smiling through a shimmer of tears. 'But I'm ready to get on with things, ready to be my own person again.'

James simply nodded, with a smile and walked past Fiona, he headed towards the door but her voice stopped him.

'James,' she said and he turned to look at her. She walked to him.

'Thank you,' she said softly, lifting her eyes to look into his.

'What for?' he asked.

'For being there for me,' she said. 'For being more than I ever could have asked for.'

James felt the familiar flush rise up his neck. 'You're welcome,' he croaked, feeling immediately embarrassed by the tone of his voice.

She smiled but he was surprised when she stood on her tiptoes and gently placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth. When she lowered herself back to the soles of her feet he stared at her in amazement, the heat from his neck rose to a blush in his face. She reached out and squeezed his fingers.

'Join me for dinner tonight,' she said softly, a twinkle in her soft eyes.

'I...'

'We shall both celebrate our liberation,'


	67. More Generations

**A/N: Thought I would finish up today as I am three chapters into my new 'baby'.**

**Thank you all so much for reading and sticking with me. I wanted to go with somethinga little different to finish the story. I hope you all like it. **

**God Bless.**

'_The wild and windy night  
That the rain washed away  
Has left a pool of tears  
Crying for the day  
Why leave me standing here  
Let me know the way _

Many times I've been alone  
And many times I've cried  
Anyway you've always known  
The many ways I've tried

And still they lead me back  
To the long, winding road  
You left me waiting here  
A long, long time ago  
Don't keep me standing here  
Lead me to you door

But still they lead me back  
To the long, winding road  
You left me waiting here  
A long, long time ago  
Don't leave me standing here  
Lead me to you door' – **The Long and Winding Road, The Beatles.**

**Chapter 67- More Generations**

The harbour was awash with people milling around enjoying the first days of good weather. The sun was bright and high in the sky but noon was long gone. Below his feet there were people, slats of wood, boats and sand. He watched from the deck of his harbour side home, as men tugged at ropes and women watched carefully.

Hearing the blast of the horn of another boat coming in he turned and look to his left, towards the sound. This one was a tug boat, towing a smaller boat back into the harbour. Someone expected the sea to be as peaceful as the land today, he thought, as he stood and rested his hands on the rail around his home.

Nobody looked up at him or even towards him, it was one of the perks of living in such a busy place. People were far too invested in the things that they were doing to bother anyone else. It suited him this way, _this peaceful and soothing way. _

For a life so full of ups and downs, sometime he hardly thought it right that eventually he could feel so well, so soothed and oddly rather content. The sun warmed his face and he gazed out across the yard, people hauled fish on to the shore and began packing them to send them in land.

Letting out a sigh, he turned away and walked back into his home, he was greeted by the sound of children laughing and in spite of himself, he felt a now familiar smile grace his lips.

Jane was washing meat carefully and laying it out on chopping boards ready for tea. She was good to the family, she worked hard to keep them in shape, feed them well, look after and care for them. Her love for them all shined through everyday and for that he was most grateful.

When she saw him walk in she put the meat down and waved, flashing him a hearty grin. He walked over, kissed her cheek and picked up an apple. Never before had he been so interested in food and the smells of a kitchen. There was once a time when he could go many days without eating a bite... or sleeping a wink for that matter.

Jane wiped her hands on the front of her apron and leaned against the work surface next to him. 'Hi,' she said, American slang that he wasn't sure he would ever really get used to. 'Are you alright?' she asked.

He nodded, took another bite from his apple and glanced through to the hallway.

'You're quiet today,' she said. 'I'm not used to that,'

He smiled. 'I'm being reflective,'

'About what?'

'Everything,' he said simply, looking back towards the hallway. Three children ran out screaming, in what could only be described as delight, they bolted through the hall and into the living quarters where he heard an almighty thud. Jane looked at him in horror and ran quickly through to the other room.

When he poked his head around the door, Jane was crouched down besides the youngest, Jeremy, who was clutching his knee and crying dirty tears, child tears. Jane held him to her body and hummed gently into his hair.

'What a silly one you are!' she said, ruffling his hair. It didn't stop his tears though, they poured.

'It's not even bleeding,' said the eldest, Thomas, who had just turned five years old. He bobbed his tongue out at his younger brother, causing more wails of displeasure from him. The middle child, Laura, remained silent, sad blue eyes focused intently on her little brother.

A tear welled in her eye but she blinked it away and reached her hands out, touching her brothers knee gently. Jane patted her hand and then rubbed Jeremy's knee with the loving touch only a mother can give. Then she began poking her fingertips into his ribs making him thrash about, giggling and kicking his legs.

'Stop!!' he squealed, through gasps. His face was turning bright red but there were no more tears as he tried to escape his mother's firm grip.

Laura and Thomas started to laugh too, joining in tormenting their brother with tickles of their own. When Jeremy finally broke free, his little legs pushing him up, he ran quickly from the room, chased by the older children. Laura was the last child to leave and she bumped his leg, almost knocking him off balance. She glanced up at him, letting her wide eyes set on his face.

'Sorry,' she murmured.

He smiled. 'Careful... _I _might tickle _you_...'

'Ahh,' she squealed, grinning at him before she too, ran from the room.

Jane huffed and lifted herself from her knees, which were now no doubt indented from kneeling too long on the carpet. She rubbed them firmly.

'I must be getting older,' she said, with a sigh. 'I can't seem to get up as easily as I used to.'

He laughed. 'You're not old,'

'No,' she whispered. 'I just feel it.'

_'I_ am old, Jane,' he said softly. 'You are young and beautiful,'

She blushed. 'And suffering from raising three young children,'

'You don't look as thought you suffer,' he said. 'And if you do you're supposed to say something, ask for help'

'I just did,' She smiled. 'Oh... its not as though I don't love them and if I'm honest, I generally enjoy it, but sometimes I get so tired...'

He nodded, waiting for her to continue. It was rare that he saw Jane and she was not smiling.

'I get tired and need some rest...' she said. 'My mother always told me it would be difficult, but I thought that's what mothers always said.'

'I wouldn't know,'

'Sorry,' she murmured. 'But you know what I am saying... it makes me feel guilty that I'm not the perfect wife and the perfect mother and...'

He held his hand out. 'Stop right there,' he said. 'You're doing a lot for a very large household here. You do a fine job and don't get yourself too down about it.'

She placed her hand on his shoulder as she brushed past him to get back to the kitchen. The smell of baking caught his nose as he entered the room, he took a deep breath, inhaled it. Jane made her way back behind the counter and he followed, grabbing a stool and pulling it to the kitchen.

'Besides,' he said, smiling at her. 'You're the best cook I know.'

'Thank you,' she said, and continued to lay strips of meat out.

At that moment the children came barrelling back through, laughing again, all tears forgotten. This time it was Laura being chased and she was the clever one, throwing things in their path as they followed. She ran over to him and stood behind him, grabbing his legs and poking her head out from behind his back.

The boys ran towards her with purpose and feeling that his life was probably now in danger, he quickly stood, lifting Laura from the floor and placing her on his shoulders.

'Uh!' Jeremy grunted, looking peeved.

'Come on,' Thomas said, dancing around his legs. 'Put her down, that's cheating,'

'No fair,' Jeremy chimed in.

The sound of Laura's victorious giggles made him smile and he moved around with her high on his shoulders. She raised her hand sin the air, declaring her winnings over the boys. He glanced at Jane and saw that she was about to say something but she stopped and turned her attention to the door.

'Put her down, father,' Joshua said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. 'You'll make her think her grandfather will rescue her all the time if you keep doing that,'

Erik laughed. 'Her grandfather will always rescue her,' he placed Laura carefully on the ground and watched as she ran to her father, lovingly opening her arms ready for the embrace.

The boys followed close behind and soon Joshua was on his knees surrounded by his three children, hugging and kissing him. He wondered where his son got his way with children from because it was certainly not from him. He had been almost completely cool with Joshua for the first years of his life and then, as he got older, he loved him but showed it rarely.

Erik did love him though.

Jane walked over, when the children had finally let their father go, and gave her husband a soft kiss. He took it appreciatively, wrapping her up in his arms and lifting her feet from the ground.

'Dinner smells wonderful,' he said, kissing her cheek and letting her back down again.

'Beef steaks,' she said, and wandered back through to the kitchen. 'I got them at the butchers this morning,'

'Well, the food smalls magnificent but I can smell baking...'

She smiled. 'Apple pie,'

'Mmm,' Joshua walked to Erik and gave him a quick hug, one of those hugs that comes from years of doing the same thing over and over, not habit necessarily but something comfortable. Erik patted his son's shoulder.

'How are you feeling today?' he asked, looking at Erik as he took the stool closest to the door.

Erik smiled. 'I'm feeling well today,'

'Good,' Joshua said quietly. 'Good...'

'I'm on the mend,'

Joshua blinked back tears. 'I hope you are,'

Erik had been ill for quite some time, a cancer of some description was running and playing havoc through his body. He knew that he was going to die but would not let the pain overcome him. He had never been so happy, surrounded by his family, by his son and his grandchildren.

'You do look...' Joshua swallowed. 'Brighter today... less pale,'

'I'm fine, really,'

Joshua took him by his arm and led him outside, closing the door behind them. They stood out there in silence for a moment, Joshua looked out over the ocean, his broad shoulders casting shadows and his dark hair blowing in the light breeze.

What a handsome boy he was, Erik thought, like the old man he was. He held in a snigger.

'We both know that you're not,' Joshua said, finally breaking the silence. Erik leant on the railings and glanced at his son. 'You're not getting better...'

'I feel fine,'

'You keep saying that,' Joshua said, a note of anger entering his voice.

'I'm trying,'

'I know,' Joshua said, turning his face away. 'I just... I wish you could stay,'

Erik nodded, placed a hand on the back of Joshua's shoulder. 'I'm sorry,'

'You shouldn't be,' he said. 'Don't be. You don't need to apologise, this isn't your fault... I'm just so angry at the injustice,'

Erik laughed. 'I rather think I'm getting what I deserve,'

Joshua shook his head and turned around, so that his blood shot eyes rested on Erik's face. 'Don't say that,'

'You know about me,' Erik said softly. 'You know my story, you know my life... you know what I did.'

'Yes,' he said. 'Which makes me believe you don't deserve to die this way!'

'Happy?' Erik asked.

'In pain,' Joshua answered.

'I concede I am in pain,' Erik said. 'But I am happy... the happiest I think I have ever been.'

'You're dying,'

'We all do,'

'Why now?'

'It's my time,' Erik said.

'How can you be happy with that?'

Erik smiled. 'I'm not happy that I am dying,' he said simply. 'I am just happy. I accept that I am dying, I accept that I cannot change it,'

Joshua shook his head, a rare tear trickled down his cheek.

'I am happy, Josh,' Erik said, looking him in the eye. 'I am happy with my grandchildren keeping me busy, with a son who loves me... I am happy that I had this chance... my life has changed and for _this_ I am happy,'

'You've been through so much already,' Joshua voice cracked and he shook his head.

'So let me enjoy the good things,' Erik said, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. 'Let me enjoy being the relaxed person I am now,'

Joshua finally let a smile nestle on his lips, a warm sight that made Erik glad of all the chances he had ever taken. He slipped an arm around Joshua's shoulders, they were the same height, the same build... only Erik's hair was more grey than black now. It was a time he thought he would never see.

'Love you,' Joshua said, kissing his hair like he was now the father. 'I better go inside,'

'You too,' Erik said, feeling a lump in his throat. He turned again and stared back out over the vast ocean. The harbour was slowing, it was nearly time for dinner and all the men were heading home.

He felt her arms slip around him before he heard her come in. She rested her head on his back, arms wrapped around his waist. Erik placed his hands over hers and pulled her around so that she was in his arms.

_Safe in his arms_.

'Are you alright?' she asked, laying a kiss on his neck. It was a gesture he would never tire of.

'Yes,' he said.

'Good,' she whispered, leaning her body against his. 'Kiss me,'

He let his lips touch hers softly, let them feel her warmth, lingered there for a while why she pressed against him. His arms were wrapped around her tightly, holding her as if he was scared of letting go.

When she pulled away she smiled. 'Perfect,' she said.

'Mother!' came the call from indoors.

She rolled her eyes. 'I'd better go and help with dinner,'

He nodded, let her walk away. When she reached the door he turned to look at her, watched the sway of her hips as she opened the door.

'Christine,' he said and she turned to look at him. 'I love you...'


End file.
